


Happy Is What Happens...

by suchakidder



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fraternities & Sororities, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, all of the Stark family makes appearances, also past Sansa/Joffrey is a thing as is current Sansa/Harry Hardyng, as do most characters Sansa's come in contact with in the books, there's nothing about Wicked in this aside from the title
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-02-23 21:09:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18710023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchakidder/pseuds/suchakidder
Summary: To quote the good witch Glinda, "getting your dreams, it's strange but it seems a little... well, complicated."After a fall from grace in her sophomore year of college, Sansa Stark is starting her senior year with everything she could ever want... but now she's beginning to question what that truly means.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: If I wanted to be super cheesy I could call this fic "A Game of Greek Life" and since naming fics is always so hard for me, I almost did it. That should let you know my opinion on greek life, which is taken from my own experiences in being in a sorority. I'm only trying to tell one story of someone's disillusionment with their sorority, it is not a reflection of every single chapter and group! 
> 
> Also, I just picked random greek letters that sounded good together and weren't nationally recognized, but pretty much every arrangement of letters is the name local chapter or organization, so while there may be a real Phi Epsilon or Iota Kappa (or any name used) but it's coincidental and not meant to reflect the real groups.

**September 24, 2016**

“I want you to know that it was not a personal decision at all.” Cersei says, composed and detached, and Sansa knows the conversation is over. Cersei’s already moved on, her red lacquered nails tapping on her the keyboard, eyes roaming over the monitor.

Sansa swallows thickly, jaw clenched tight to hold back the cry growing at the back of her throat. Her body feels as anxious as the shore before the crash of a wave, the water rushing and pulling back faster and faster, building in the deep before finally breaking.

“Oh, and would you please drop off your binder to Margaery at your earliest convenience?”

A watery, plaintive “Why?” crosses her lips before she has a chance to think.

Cersei rolls her eyes briefly and smiles her patented condescending smirk. “Margaery will cover your position for the rest of the term.”

Sansa should have expected that, but the news still hits like a physical blow. Of fucking course Margaery would take her position, ever the saint, she’d have accepted with grace and humility. Sansa cannot speak and even a nod seems to be too much, so she stands there, the only blemish in Cersei’s perfect office.

“You’re dismissed, Sansa,” Cersei says finally and Sansa walks on autopilot out of the door, down the hall and through the common room of the house. Only a few girls are in the room, but Sansa moves past them without even registering their faces. She just hopes her face isn’t too red, her eyes too glassy, stare too hard. The word will spread soon, has probably already begun circulation, but Sansa wants them to know she held her head high after receiving news of her impeachment. 

“That’s such a hard word,” Cersei had said, once Sansa finally put together all her honeyed ambiguities. “You’re acting as this is politics! We do not impeach in Phi Epsilon.”

They just “respectfully withdrew” an elected officer when the “intensity of the position” became “detrimental to the chapter”

Sansa made it out of sorority house and to her car without breaking, but the racing, rushing pulse inside her was too strong for her to hold out until her dorm room.The wave was too big, it would collapse in on itself at any second. She drove with her hands vice tight on the wheel, jaw straining in her effort, and finally, the rushing waters broke upon the shore, an angry, ugly sob spilling forth as she sat at the light at Broadway and Highland. The horn blared harshly as she collapsed against the steering wheel, too tired to hold herself up.

Tired of smiling as Cersei talked to her like she was an idiot. Tired of smiling as Margaery, saccharine and angelic, assured Sansa that nothing she’d ever done had been with the intention of hurting her. Tired of smiling to her sisters, like nothing was wrong, like she liked seeing Margaery and Joffrey together, like she liked the fact that her sisters hadn’t thought it important to tell her they were seeing each other behind her back.

An abrupt, loud horn from behind her jarrs her from her thoughts and she looks to her rearview mirror to see an angry driver in the car behind her laying on his horn. Unsteadily, she pulls through the intersection than off to the side of the road, the car speeding past less than a second after she’d moved over. She pulls out her phone. 

Sansa wants her mom, wants to bundle up inside her arms and hear her soft words of comfort and assurance. She takes out her phone, ready to put in her mom’s contact, but her fingers hover over her name. Telling her mom what happened would mean she’d have to tell everything that’s gone wrong. Facing her disappointment would be too much. Not today.

Instead she calls the only other person she knows would support. He picks up on the second ring.

“Uncle Petyr, I need your help.”

**August 16, 2018**

Sansa’s cheeks hurt from smiling and her feet ache and if she has to have one more discussion on how her sisters are her soulmates she might just scream. Luckily tonight is her last round of her last night of her last recruitment. Three years ago, she had been all nervous energy and anxiety, watching wonder-eyed, as the seniors cried and held each for their part of the pref night ceremony, a sweet desire in her heart to be there one day. And her sophomore year, that desire was tinged with melancholy, because now that she had her sisters, how could she ever leave them? Now, Sansa is just waiting for tomorrow, not for the some twenty new baby blues that will run up the hill to them, but for the sweet joy of it being over, meaning she can go back to the three to four hours spent at the house daily, compared to the eighteen she has been pulling this week.

Sansa lingers with the other floaters and advisors on the far side of the common room, as her other sisters pour their heart out to the potential new member. Margaery sits, arm around a crying PNM, patting her sweetly on the shoulder, and Beth is kneeling before another PNM, both of the young girls hands in her own. Directly across the room, Arwyn Frey flounders in conversation with her PNM, a petite girl with white-blonde hair. 

Sansa crosses the room, laying a comforting hand on Arwyn’s back, while she smiles at the girl. 

“Hey girls, what are we talking about?” she asks, as if they were talking about anything other than the approved topics for pref round. 

“Sansa!” Arwyn cries, shoulders relaxing and the manic look leaving her eyes. “Daenerys and I were just discussing my favorite P.E. memory. Daenerys, this is Sansa Stark, president of Phi Epsilon.”

Daenerys Targaryen? And it’s Arwyn preffing her? Daenerys is the only living heir of the Targaryen family, the very family that started Roth College three hundred years ago. Having her in Phi Epsilon would only confirm their stance as the best sorority on campus. Sansa should have known, Daenerys has the look with her hair and violet eyes, but she’d has been so preoccupied. She’ll have to talk to Myranda about this inattention later, she decides.

“Hi Daenerys, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Have you enjoyed recruitment so far?”

Daenerys ponders it for a moment, a small, private smile on her lips. She’s so striking, even with her small stature, she fills her space, holds herself with such confidence. “It was certainly interesting.” 

Most PNMs are so pleasing, they nod and smile and say everything they think the girls want to hear, but playing hard is a tactic too, one Daenerys is employing. Sincerity has no place in recruitment, nor Greek Life.

“It can be a little overwhelming, meeting so many girls in such a short amount of time. But some of the best bonds can be made during recruitment.” To emphasize her point, she squeezes Arwyn's shoulder, though Arwyn was one of the girls Sansa didn’t even meet till Bid Day.

“Overwhelming and confusing. I’m used to much more straightforward conversation.” 

Sansa smile never falters. Arwyn bites her lip and looks between the two, but their attention is directly on each other.

“It certainly does seem like that, everyone trying to sell you that they have the best sisters, the best values, the best philanthropy. When I was a PNM, I was told to look around each room, and see which girls I could picture myself friends with.” It would have been Phi Epsilon no matter what, even if all the girls had been unfriendly and rude. Some of the other sororities expressed interest and Sansa genuinely enjoyed getting to know them, but she’d had her heart set on P.E. from the day she went through her mother’s college scrapbooks.

“That seems a little arbitrary to base such a big decision on,” Daenerys counters. Arwyn steps away, pretends to find interest in one of the boards behind them.

Sansa shakes her head in pity, a trick she learned from Cersei, “That’s such a sad way to look at it. I think it just requires a little trust.”

“You trust your sisters, Sansa? Your choice?”

Sansa’s lip twitches, and she plays with the pearl bracelet on her wrist. The answer is there, she knows what to say, but the words catch at the back of her throat she finds herself staring at the dragon pendant hanging from Daenerys’s neck.

The lights flicker and it breaks Sansa’s spell. “Of course,” she coughs out, then shakes her head of the moment. 

“I’m sorry our time is up,” Sansa says, one guiding hand on the girl’s back to usher her from the room.

“Me too. It was nice to meet you, Sansa.” Daenerys says, leaving Sansa’s touch to join the throng of PNMs leaving the house. 

Daenerys isn’t in the excited group of girls running up the hill the next morning, and though Sansa tries to look for her at all the other tents, she’s soon surrounded by a group of sweaty, crying girls. Bess Bracken is one of the girls as is Elyena Westerlings, both legacies and an almost sure deal. Most of the other faces Sansa’s doesn’t recognize. Myrcella would have gone through recruitment this year, but she didn’t even attend Roth University, not after Joffrey's expulsion and Cersei’s arrest. 

Bid day ends slowly, girls drifting from the pool party slowly in small groups. Her options for after the party are numerous, some senior girls invited her out for drinks, Myranda wants her and Mya to come over for a wine and movie night, there’s the open invitation to crash at Robb and Theon’s, even Petyr offered to take her to dinner to celebrate her final recruitment and discuss it now that it's over, but it’s Harry’s she goes to. He’s been so good during recruitment, helping move the tables and lattice, climbing the ladders and hanging the drapery, bringing her food and caffeine when she couldn’t catch a break, and massaging her shoulders and feet and calves when she could. He would do that all night if she asked, but it's not the release she wants from her boyfriend tonight.

Sex with Harry is good, comfortable, easy. She loses herself in the familiar roll of her hips and Harry’s breath panting in her ear. And after its done and Harry’s up to throw away the condom, she stretches out, lazy and sated. When Harry comes back to bed, his embrace is warm and cozy, a solid press along her back, his hand proprietorially draped over her lower belly.

“Last recruitment over. How do you feel?”

Her mother had cried when Sansa showed her the acceptance letter, because Roth was never a guarantee, not like it was with Robb. She cried again, after moving Sansa into her dorm room, lingering past the welcome lunch and the organizational fair in the quad, until she finally had no other reason to stay and had to leave back for Winterfell, hundreds of miles away.

“I’m so proud of you, my baby girl. You’re gonna have all you ever wanted,” she had said through sniffles.

And in Petyr’s office, sophomore year, Sansa had sobbed and sobbed, bitter, aching tears for all she’d lost, her best friend, boyfriend, her scholarship, her position in her sorority, her trust in her sisters. Everything her mother had promised she would get, taken one by one.

“I feel great, Harry.” Sansa tells him, grateful he can’t see her face. The darling of Roth University. Beloved and respected by all her sisters, cherished by her boyfriend, backed by her infallible uncle. How could she feel anything else?

“Better than great. It’s...perfect.” 

Sansa spends the next few days before school starts in the closest semblance of lazing as she cans. Late mornings, tv binges with her summer reading books piled, unread, on her nightstand, long winding skype calls with her mom, various other Starks popping up occasionally--Rickon has so much to divulge now that he’s a high schooler and she and Bran have long conversations on everything and nothing. Robb invites her to Jeyne's birthday party, says she can bring Harry if she wants, but she declines, a “PE situation, but I promise we’ll catch up soon” texted an hour before the party begins. She balances laying out by the rec center pool with meetings at the house, turns down all the invites to parties and nights out on the town while she cooks elaborate dinners for Harry and his roommates.

She can’t put off Mya and Myranda forever, so she finally accepts their invite for a girls’ night out on the eve of their last first day of school. Despite her vow for just one drink, as she has a 9 AM class, followed by two more and then three hours in the Greek Life office, Sansa’s three drinks in, laughing at everything her friends say, feeling loose and easy all over when Myranda suddenly grabs her arm.

“Woah, San, that guy is checking you out.” she yells in her ear. Sansa’s whips her head around, the auburn curls she’d spent over an hour perfecting bouncing as she looks for the guy.

“Who?” She asks, taking in the patrons of the bar. Myranda prefers the college bars, but Mya doesn’t so they’re a little further from the college district, and further from uptown. It’s not seedy, like Sansa had originally thought, their first time here, when she was scared to even step foot in the bar, tipsy already and clinging to Mya, bargaining that she’d do anything if they could just go to The Three Dragons. Mya had been unrelenting, dragging Sansa into the bar, filled with the everyday, average King’s Landing’s citizens. Not the preppy, posh trust-fund kids that mingle, playing beer pong and discussing their next vacation.

“Sansa! You can’t just look!” Myranda shrieks in a high giggle, but Sansa doesn’t care, still turning her head, and even Mya, the most sober, is it on it too, scanning the crowd.

“Who?” Sansa asks again.

“Big guy, back there!” She says, pointing towards the back doors that spill out onto the patio. Sansa grabs her hand, the giddy “Randa, pointing is way ruder than looking” dying in her throat because she’s finally locked eyes with the mystery guy.

Big is right. The guy is tall and broad, solid and imposing and his dark eyes bore into hers so intensely she shivers, goosebumps rising on the bare skin of her shoulders. A beat passes and Sansa bites her lip in a small smile before looking back to the girls.

“Oh my god,” Sansa squeals, trying to be quiet as if he can hear across the room.

“He kinda looks like a felon,” Myranda deduces, looking at him with unashamed curiosity, now that Sansa’s had her look.

“Or an MMA fighter,” Mya adds astutely.

Sansa sneaks another peak. Her hair falls in her face as she turns, and she pushes it away, letting her fingers run through the strands slowly. In body language, playing with your hair is definite sign of interest, and she’s _not_ interested, she loves Harry, but she can’t deny the attraction.

Now that she’s really looking, she can take in the other features, the long black hair, the swirl of black ink peeking out from the tight cuff of his t-shirt, the scarring, an angry, vicious mass on the left side of his face. Unscarred, the other side of his face is sharp and harsh, a strong straight nose and heavy brow.. 

His eyes are focused on her, a slow once over, with a dark smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Eventually, their eyes meet again, and he smirks before breaking contact. Sansa feels a low, hot current in the pit of her stomach.

“That was some serious eye-fucking” Mya comments when Sansa finally pulls her eyes away.

“I can hear the sound of Sansa’s panties flying across the room.” Myranda adds.

Sansa weakly tries to protests and they all shriek with laughter, waiting for the guy to come over. One shared look could be coincidence, but two is all it takes to make a connection. He’ll come over, offer her a drink, and she’ll enjoy a minute or two of flirting before letting him know she’s taken. And what’s after is up to him. Randa always says there’s no harm in just a little fun flirting, but Sansa never tends to like the ones that stick once they find out she’s not available.

Two minutes later and the guy has yet to come over, and all the anticipatory squirming has left her restless, agitated.

“I’m going to get a drink,” she announces.

Myranda hoots and claps her hands together but Mya narrows her eyes.

“You’ve had three already, San, and classes start tomorrow.”

“Just one more Mya!” Sansa cries as she pushes off from the table to her unsteady feet, wobbling only slightly in her platform heels. As tall as she is, heels aren’t a necessity, but she likes them anyway, feels daring the higher they are, and once she’s liquored enough, she can’t even feel any discomfort. 

“Sansa, I really don’t think it’s a good idea.” Mya stresses, and she grabs Sansa’s arm, anchoring her to the moment, pulling her back from the haze of her mind to focus on the now. But the now is the loud music pumping over the speakers and Mya’s face, serious and concerned, and her classes in the morning and her boyfriend waiting up for her to text that she’s made it home alright.

“I’m fine really,” she says, though her protest is weak and her buzz is fading, and drinking more, or even just heading to the bar, leaving her friends and making herself more approachable is not a good idea.

“Then I’ll go get you a drink, if you want it so bad, ” Mya offers and like that the exchange is over and Sansa sits back in her on her stool in defeat. 

They leave not too long after, Myranda verging on an embarrassing level of inebriated, loud and chatty and stumbling, barely able to walk without assistance. Sansa attempts a few covert glances to the back of the bar, but the guy isn’t there anymore, isn’t anywhere in sight as she scans the room, but she figures, as they leave, with Myranda slung between the two of them, that’s its for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this an embarrassingly long time ago (I think 2015, but it could even be 2014) worked on it intermittently until summer 2016, and it's mostly sat untouched since then. I've got about 10 chapters already written and the rest outlined, so hopefully I have enough time to finish the fic while I'm releasing the chapters and keep this on a pretty consistent updating schedule.


	2. Chapter 2

When Sansa had switched majors the spring semester of her sophomore year, she’d been so determined to start her business classes that she’d put off some of her more basic required classes, like statistics, technical writing, and public speaking to name a few. To make up for it, she’d had to take some of those classes as an upperclassmen, sometimes the only upperclassmen of the students. 

This semester its public speaking and she’s glad its a Tues-Thurs class because there’s no way she could have handled such an interactive class with the hangover she’d suffered until late in the afternoon yesterday. All of her classes had been excruciating-- she’d had to introduce herself in her advanced marketing class and blanked on her major-- and then she’d had the swearing in of the pledges in the evening. 

Aside from some residual sleepiness, today Sansa is clear minded, pain free, and cognizant and arrives at class early enough to get her preferred seat-- second seat back, a row or two from the center. 

She’s laying out her notebook and pens, trying to remember the paragraph or two she skimmed the night before, when a voice to her left startles her - 

“Hi Sansa,” Daenerys Targaryen says. For a second, Sansa doesn’t recognize her, she’s so demure compared to pref night-- a loose, long sleeve blouse over jean shorts, her hair pulled back in a low ponytail-- but she has the same strong presence. 

Sansa could pretend to forget her name or not response. Some girls go so far as to preach that getting into Phi Epsilon is a privilege and those girls who don’t make it or choose other sororities can’t be treated like everyone else: they needed to see what they’d lost out on by not choosing correctly. It had made sense in the beginning, why offer friendship, _sisterhood_ , to those who couldn’t be bothered to choose P.E. but as she learned the true value her “sisters” placed on their bond, Sansa realized how pointless the unspoken rule was. 

“Daenerys, hi!” Sansa beams. “How are you?” and then because she can’t help herself, “What sorority did you end up going with? I looked but I didn’t see you at bid day.” As a Targaryen, Daenerys must have had her pick. 

“I didn’t accept my bid” Daenerys says casually and it isn’t that an enigma? Who would turn down Daenerys Targaryen?

Once the lists have been turned in, it’s up to the older advisors behind a closed door and their secretive methods to determine the bids. Sansa thought becoming president might give her a better view on how it was done, but no advisor had shared even a word of the bid process to her, not even Taena. It should be an easy process, but there were always outliers like whichever group Daenerys had ended up with. Sansa makes a mental note to talk about it later with Mya and Myranda, but for now she overlooks it. 

In the few minutes before class, Sansa learns that Daenerys is actually a year older than her, but a freshman, having just come to the states after years traveling Europe and Asia. Sansa feels sheltered compared to her, but Daenerys seems equally interested in Sansa’s stories of growing up in her small town in Minnesota as Sansa had been in Daenerys’s stories. Sansa’s telling her about the wolf conservation Arya liked to volunteer at when her attention is drawn to the door. 

For a minute, Sans stares, dumbstruck. She wants it to be her imagination, but after a minute or two there’s no mistake or mirage-- it’s the guy from the bar. Now, in the sober light of day, Sansa can tell it wasn’t just the alcohol because her stomach clenches and flutters all the same when those dark grey eyes meet hers. Sansa breaks eye contact, again, after a moment, looking down at her desk but she’s aware of his every movement as he crosses the now mostly full classroom and slides into the desk to her right. 

Sansa is saved (or denied?) from having to confront him with the arrival of the professor. 

Today must be a day for surprises and coincidences, and this one she’s also unsure of how to feel. Renly Baratheon had always been a pleasant part of her visits to the Baratheon/Lannister household. She could always count on his witty comments to defuse the tense moments between Robert and Cersei or Joffrey and well… anyone else. 

If it hadn’t been for the circumstances she’d last seen Renly, Sansa would be delighted to have him as professor. 

Aside from the occasional run-ins on campus, the last time she’d seen Renly had been at a Baratheon back to school bash a week or two into her sophomore year of school. Parties at the Baratheon household were usually formal, regal affairs, filled with dignitiaries and politicians and strict decorum, but that night it had been mostly a younger crowd, Joffrey’s fraternity brothers, some sorority girls, connections at the university. 

It had been Robb Sansa had been searching for that night, looking for a ride home after a particularly cruel comment from Joffrey. Someone, one of the Alphas probably, had told her he’d seen Robb heading upstairs with Talisa Maegyr. He had, but the door she’d opened hadn’t hid her brother and his latest hookup behind it. 

In retrospect, Sansa should have knocked or at least opened the door cautiously. Even if it had been Robb, if her brother had taken a girl upstairs, it would have probably been for one reason, but Sansa still believed in some sort of sibling immunity that would keep her from walking in on her brother hooking up. That immunity did not extend to her boyfriend’s family.

Rather than let her run off and die of shame in some corner, Renly had actually made her wait while he got out of bed and donned a robe. In that moment, with Renly standing before her barely dressed, hair freshly disheveled and hickeys crawling up his neck and Loras Tyrell covered up with a sheet on the bed behind him, Sansa would have agreed to anything, if only to make the embarrassment end. His request hadn’t even been that hard. Knowing what she knows now of Baratheons, and especially Lannisters, things could have gone a lot worse than just Renly asking her not to tell anyone what she saw. 

Sansa only had to keep that promise a year or two; the story broke sometime during the media circus of the Lannister court cases, hardly even a story compared to all the corruption going on within Lannisworks, but Sansa still blushed anytime either men were brought up, much less she was in near proximity to one of them.

And now she’ll have him as a professor for an entire semester. With the man from the bar no less. Sansa is beginning to doubt her assessment that this day while be better than the previous one.

“Hello, everyone, I’m Renly Baratheon.” 

There’s a chorus of hellos and greetings.

“Both of my brothers go by Mr. Baratheon,” Renly continues, “and as one is a drunk buffoon, the other as dull as dishwater, I’d rather not be in any way associated with either. Just call me Renly,” He pauses and scans the classroom. If he takes note of Sansa, it doesn’t show because he continues on evenly with, “Now, who is scared of public speaking?”

Most of the students raise their hands, some timidly, some casually, some boldy. Sansa, Daenerys and the man from the bar keep their hands down, a defiant little line at the front of the classroom. 

“I appreciate your honesty.” Renly says. “And to those of you who kept didn’t raise your hand, you’re either lying or one of a blessed few. Thousands will list public speaking as their biggest fears, over flying, spiders, and car accidents. Since I’m a jump straight into the pool, rip the bandage off type, we’re going to jump head first into facing our fears with introduction speeches. Pair up.”

Sansa shifts towards Daenerys, but Renly suddenly cuts in. “No, no. I’ll partner you up.”

The professor goes about the room, pairing people in proximity. Sansa knows, with a dread, who she will be paired with. Sure enough, Renly reaches her, points to the man besides her, and moves on.

They stare at each other in silence, an uncomfortable silence growing until Sansa finally breaks the seal.

“Hi, I’m Sansa Stark.”

“You’re the president of those blue birds?” Is his response. His voice matches his appearance, raspy and low, and it’s unfair how Sansa’s body responds so wholly.

“Phi Epsilon?” Her hand instantly goes to the drop letters at her throat. “Yes, I’m president. Are you in Greek life?” Probably not, but she doesn’t monitor what goes on in the boys’ side nearly as much as the sororities.

“Do I look like the type to join a fraternity?” He asks, words angry and harsh. “I fucking hate them.”

Sansa is taken back by his hostility, but she pushes through, a firm believer in killing with kindness. “There’s no ‘type’ in Greek life, anyone can-”

“Right, which is why you always see fat, ugly girls just crowding the houses, right?”

“Historically, there was a stereotype of physical appearance, but each chapter has taken effort to diversify.”

“Look at you, chirping like a little bird. All these perfectly memorized pleasantries.” 

Sansa has had many hostile people, in her face, ranting on the perceived failing of greek life, but never with so much anger or bitterness. And with the day she’s having she has no patience or filter apparently, because before she knows she finds herself firing back. “You have such strong views of something you apparently don’t care about. What happened? You rushed and didn’t get a single bid?”

He laughs at that and looks at her without anger for the first time since their conversation began.

That must be what fuels her on, it has to be because what comes next is completely unprecedented. 

“You didn’t talk to me at the bar.”

“You didn’t talk to me, little bird. It’s the 21st century, a woman can approach a man.” He says, still amused, the burnt corner of his mouth twitching.

“A woman can, but…”

“But nothing. You were sitting with those giggly girlfriends, hardly an inviting situation, yeah?”

“I was going to go to the bar,” Sansa says in defense. 

“This has nothing to do with our project. I don’t think I can’t get up there with only ‘Sansa Stark leads a vicious pack of girls and looks devastating in a skirt.’”

“You have more than me,” Sansa shoots back and it's only then that she realize she doesn’t even know his name. This conversation, this back and forth rapport, and she stills refers to him as guy from the bar in her head. 

“What’s so funny?” He asks, and now there’s this wariness creeping back into his voice, a prelude to anger no doubt, so Sansa calms down, catching her breath and looking at the man in front of her.

“I don’t even know your name.”

A small twitch of his lips betrays his attempt to seem unamused. “Sandor. Sandor Clegane.”

Clegane? The name seems familiar, but this is King’s Landing. Between her father’s connections and her own within the university, she easily knows most of the families who live there.

“That would have been a disaster if I had started presenting without knowing that, Sandor” Sansa says, a small little thrill when she says his name.

“Here, I’ll give you some more. I worked security for LannisWorks since I was 16 and got half a million in the legal debacle last year. My counselor suggested I come to Roth instead of blow it on booze. So, here I am, trying to find a career where my skills of waiting, watching, and bashing heads can be useful.”

“You worked for the Lannisters?” Sansa asks. Lannisworks has offices up and down the east coast, that doesn't have to mean- 

“Yeah, directly for Tywin then Cersei. She even had me work with her stupid kids sometimes.” 

Which means that Sandor’s probably heard all about her from someone. She doubts she was more than a blip on Tywin's radar, or even that much more to Cersei, who Sansa never thought really considered her a serious match for Joffrey, but if Sandor were working in the most intimate circle of Lannisters, the Stark name had to have come up.

“In fact, I’ve seen you before, little bird. I was there when Joffrey brought you by for that gala a few years back.” Sandor adds.

Another party with Joffrey, this one the only time she’d ever been to Casterly Rock, the Lannister ancestral home in the Blue Ridge mountains. Joffrey rarely spent time with his family, usually only at holidays, and the Lannister/Baratheon household prefered to celebrate in exotic locales anyway. The few times Joffrey had brought Sansa home, it’d been to the Red Keep, the sprawling, ancient Georgian estate on the outskirts of D.C. 

But that night, it had been the annual philanthropic gala for Lannisworks, and despite Joffrey’s grumblings about the mandatory event, Sansa had been so excited for the glitz and glamor. She wonders what impression she must have made that night. 

“Really? I must have missed you, I was so preoccupied -” 

“Trying to find a pretty way to say ‘it’s hard to miss this face’?” 

“No. If you were good at your job, wouldn’t you want to be unseen anyway?” 

“You have some bite.” Sandor says with a slight chuckle. That, and she wanted to get the topic away from Sandor knowing her before.

“And you could have learned that if you’d have talked to me at the bar.” Sansa jokes.

“I don’t know if your boyfriend would have appreciated that.”

“Joffrey? I’m not dating - “

“Aren’t you with that Hardyng?” 

Harry. Sansa hasn’t thought of him this whole conversation, which is well and normal; Harry’s not usually on her mind during schoolwork but this is different. Talking to Sandor at the bar the way she’s implying, the way she’s talking to Sandor right now, it could be considered flirting, probably is flirting. Harry would appreciate it as much as Sansa would appreciate him flirting with another girl.

“Let’s move on,” Sansa 

“Sure,”

“So, I’m from-”

“Winterfell, Minnesota” 

“And I have-”

“Five siblings.”

“ _Four,”_ Sansa says pointedly, voice and stance so similar to her mother's it floors her. She can recall the words from her mother’s lips a hundred times, at school, the grocery store, Robb’s hockey games and Bran’s physical therapy group.

“Right, the nephew. Tension there?

“No!” And then, again, once she’s calmed down, a much more composed, “No. There’s no tension. How do you know all this anyway?”

“I looked you up when you and Joffrey first got together.” Sandor doesn’t even have the decency to look chagrined. “Don’t look give me that offended look, Cersei had me do it for anyone who wanted to spend time with her poor excuse of a son.”

“This is completely unfair now! I’m the one going to go up there with ‘Sandor Clegane is good at going unnoticed, except for when he’s checking you out at a bar’.” And she’s not flirting, she’s simply making a joke about the first thing they connected on, but still she follows it up with a question before Sandor can respond. “Where are you from?”

They spend the rest of the few minutes discussing their backgrounds. Sandor is reluctant to give away any information, and turns the conversation to her as often as possible but eventually Sansa learns he’s from Casterly, had two siblings, both older, both dead, and does woodwork in his spare time. 

“Time!” Renly calls and one by one, picks on pairs to share a few sentences on what they learned on their partners. Sansa spends the few minutes before her turn, alternating in paying attention to the speaker and reciting her own, short speech in her head. When Renly finally points to her and Sandor, she stands up, as calm and collected as when she addresses her sisters during chapter meetings. The class claps politely afterward, excluding Sandor who only nods. It’s not a scowl though, so she’ll take it. 

Sandor has more information on her than anyone else in the class was able to glean from their partners and he knows it, mentioning some of her track record through P.E., a subject they’d barely even touched, with a smug smile. He graciously leaves out the part about her skirt though. 

Once the speeches are over, Renly dismisses the class, trusting them to have read the syllabus. He waves a bit awkwardly at Sansa as she’s leaving, proof that maybe neither of them knows exactly how to handle their weird relationship now. Sandor, on the other hands, leaves quickly, without even a goodbye, and that bothers Sansa more than she wants to admit.

\---

The Greek Life office had been, at one point, her favorite place on campus, surpassing both the P.E. house and her dorm room. The common lounge when first walking in is large but inviting, with crafting stations and large conference tables. Mostly students comes for resources--to take materials or use the color printer-- or to meet with Petyr. Occasionally, students will come to study and chat, and while Sansa, as on office aid, is supposed to promote that type of behavior, she prefers the office when it’s only her and the other aids.

Sansa’s desk is a bigger one up front, allocated from some secretary somewhere. Though office aids had no assigned desks, Sansa claimed it as her own from the first day she worked there, a perk of being related to the head of Greek Life. 

It’s covered in three weeks of dust when Sansa walks in after lunch. A week worth’s for recruitment and two for her two weeks in Winterfell before that, the only time she’d taken off this summer. 

Her sisters commended her for staying to oversee recruitment preparations and to keep the inevitable summer time drama down and her mother warned her not to stay in King’s Landing for a boy, seeing how that ended with Joffrey. Though she did help Myranda and the chair heads with recruitment and spent most of her free time with Harry, her real motivation hadn’t even been a desire to stay but a hesitance to go home. She’d looked into summer programs fatalistically, dreaming of working at a summer camp or a hotel at the Grand Canyon all while knowing that if she weren’t going to Winterfell, her only realistic option was to stay in King’s Landing. When the semester ended, she moved her dorm boxes to Harry’s, registered for a few classes, signed up for almost forty hours a week at the office.

“Sansa!” Petyr cries from his behind his open door at the back of the common room. It had been a comfort, once, that she could expect one person to genuinely welcome her presence. 

That had been so long ago, when Petyr was only her uncle and the lounge was a meeting room, girls from her sorority dropping in to eat lunch with her and frat guys coming by for “supplies” and staying to flirt. Before Petyr had become her mentor, had taught her to unlearn trust and harden her heart. Before the office had become just another theater where Sansa had to perform, the perfect P.E. bluebird that everyone expected.

“Good afternoon, Uncle Petyr.” Sansa chirps in her telephone voice. If Petyr notices the artificial tone, he pays no mind, waving her into his small office.

“How were your classes?” He asks.

“Good.” She answers, though her classes could be described as anything but. After public speaking, she spent the next two classes so full of restless irritation, barely paying attention, distracted to the point that she wouldn’t be able to remember the subject of either class.

Lunch was another torture. Still mulling over her interactions with Sandor, she’d sat at the PE table without thinking. Petyr stressed the importance of being active in her sorority; even the lunch table was not something to be skipped, but none of her friends had the same lunch break and it wasn’t something she wanted to endure alone. Of course, she’d forgotten that, and been forced into awkward conversations with a group of sophomores she didn’t know very well.

“Just good?”

“Great. None seem to be too hard. I have Mr. Baratheon for Public Speaking.”

Petyr rolled his eyes at that. “No, I didn’t think class with Renly Baratheon would be difficult at all. Though,” and he takes a pause to let his eyes roam her body, an invasive once over that has her skin crawling, “knowing his preference, perhaps it won’t be the easy ‘A’ some received.”

But that was only a rumor, the butt of mostly playful jokes. Yes, Renly is out now and is dating one of the sons of California business mogul Mace Tyrell, but as far as Sansa knows, she is only one of a few to know when that relationship started. Petyr would destroy Renly if there was anything more than whispers to link him to sleeping with a student, and probably Loras too, though Sansa knew neither had ever done a thing to hurt him.

“You need to take power at any opportunity you can, Sansa,” Petyr had said during one of the countless meetings behind his closed door. “Even if it doesn’t fit your endgame now, you never know when it could come into play.”

Sansa had always wondered how many people at the university were in some debt whether an unpaid favor or some secret Petyr knew, or maybe even actual money. Sometimes, at lunch or on walks around the campus, he liked to point them out, the dirt he know the dean of business or the head of the philosophy department. 

“And your other classes?”

Of what she could remember, they seemed standard, non-issue. 

“Easy too. I think it will be an easy semester.”

“And any new updates on P.E.?”

Petyr had taken her for lunch Sunday, a long, sprawling affair involving too many mimosas and most of the afternoon. She’d gushed her thoughts on recruitment, the pitfalls, the triumphs, the sheer joy at never having to undertake such an immense endeavour again. It’s Tuesday and the only time she’s been with her sisters was the chapter meeting and pledge in on Monday night. 

“Not yet,” she answers, backing out of the office.

‘Not so fast, Sansa! It's the second day of school, I doubt you’ll have much work. You can stay and chat a while longer.”

Though she’s loathe to admit it, Petyr’s right. She'd told Petyr she’d be back once she was finished and after answering the few emails, dusting her desk and tidying the lounge, dallying on pinterest and the web for a good thirty minutes, she finds herself back in his office, seated in one of his plush, visitor’s chair.

“What do you know about Sandor Clegane?”

She searched him during her stretch on the web, feeling silly as she typed his name first into facebook, and then google. Facebook had predictably brought up nothing, and google only brought up his brother, Gregor, with Sandor listed as an afterthought. She remembered that name, Gregor or… The Mountain, isn’t that what Joffrey had said once? Gregor’s list of criminal accusations was stomach turning, though he he’d never been convicted and died before the investigation into Lannisworks began in earnest.

“Why?”

Sansa shrugs. There is nothing to say but the truth, though she has to downplay her interest. “He’s in one of my classes. We talked a little.”

“I can’t believe they’d let The Hound into Roth,” Petyr says with a sneering shake of his head. “Are our standards really that low?”

“The Hound?”

“His name, in certain circles. He’s no one you need to worry about.

Sansa can’t help herself. “He knew some stuff about me, my name, my family, but-”

“As someone who spent years working for Tywin Lannister and LannisWorks, not too mention overseeing Joffrey on occasion, I’m sure he would. But he was in an accident two years that left him bedridden for six months, and the trial was in full swing by the time he could work again… He won’t know anything about your involvement in that.”

Sansa hadn’t even considered that. Petyr had worked hard to keep her involvement in the case from going public, but she still has dreams of Ilyn Payne dealing out revenge on the behalf of Cersei or some other burned employee. With Tywin dead, Cersei and Kevan Lannister had gotten the brunt of the punishment, but dozens of others were incriminated in one or another scheme and hundreds left unemployed when the company shut down.

“Do you want to know how he got his burns?” 

Sansa doesn’t, but she can’t get her throat to work and Petyr continues, smug and amused, laughing like it’s funny that Sandor’s brother held him over a flame until nearly half his face burnt off. Like the pain Sandor, just a young boy, felt was comical. Like the fact everyone thought it was an accident, because that the story his father spread is somehow reason that Petyr is better, more accomplished, superior.

She and Sandor are even now, Sansa supposes, now that she knows something about him that she shouldn’t. But there’s no relief from that, and Sansa regrets ever bringing the subject to Petyr.

Sansa manages to spend the rest of her shift at her desk, messing around on the computer and helping the one student to come in. By 4:25, her computer is shut down, school bag packed, lounge looking spotless and the next five minutes drag by, even while she tries to entertain herself by playing on her phone. Finally, its 4:30, and she leaves with a quick goodbye to Petyr, clocking out before he’s even left his office.

The walk from the student union to the her on-campus apartment is a long one, nearly twenty minutes, but only when it’s raining does Sansa regret not buying a parking decal that would let her use the staff parking lot in front. Petyr had offered her one but she had to draw the line at the perks somewhere. Roth University is beautiful, ancient red brick buildings spread out over acres of gorgeous oaks; even after four years, it’s still satisfying to walk along the paths of so many accomplished alumni, her parents included and admire the impressive architecture.

Sansa tries not to think of Sandor, not when there are so many other things, but she fails miserably. He’s blunt, crude, a completely un-mannered, the opposite of anyone else who’d ever captured her attention. Joffrey only played the part of the charming, intelligent, kind gentleman Sansa wanted, and even then, his cruelty and ignorance were always lurking, right under the surface. With Harry, Sansa had gotten the real deal. A true gentleman. Harry charmed everyone he met with his easy-going, friendly personality, he smiled easily and often, and had never once treated Sansa less than she deserved. 

She can’t judge Sandor, a man she’d only met this morning, against her boyfriend of over a year, but she wishes she can, wishes she can write him off as an unpleasant asshole and be done with it, instead of yearning for more. She wants to talk to him, to get to know him, despite his behavior, which is far more dangerous than when it was simply a physical reaction.

“Do you think it’s bad to have be attracted on someone else while you have a boyfriend?” Sansa asks later, in the car, as she drives Mya and Myranda to the sisterhood being held at Taena’s house.

“No!” Myranda shouts gleefully at the same time Mya says “It depends.”

“It's only natural. I actually think it’s monogamy that isn’t natural.” Myranda says with a shrug.

Sansa’s always admired Myranda’s lax view on sexuality. Sansa’s hooked up with a few guys, but it was mostly handsy stuff, the only men she’d ever had sex with had been Joffrey and Harry, and only once the relationship had been established. Myranda’s slept with a dozen or so guys, a number she states is low compared to most people she meets, and she does with such effortless contentment. 

“Any yet you still want a relationship,” Mya chides. 

“So do you,” Myranda shoots right back. While Myranda has been in the occasional relationship between flings, Mya hasn’t dated anyone since Mychel, or if she has, she hasn’t told them. Mya and Myranda are her best friends but Mya has always been more reserved, more likely to do things independent of them. Sansa knows approximately how many guys Mya has been with, but unlike Myranda who comes back from her latest hook up with all the juicy details, sometimes Mya doesn’t even tell them until days later, if she tells them at all. 

“I’m not the one who thinks monogamy is unnatural. Or that its ok to flirt when you have a boyfriend.” 

“I never said flirt!” Sansa cries quickly, defensively.

“I never said you did.” Mya says, a teasing glint in her dark eyes. “But now you’re flirting with this guy you think you have a crush on?”

“I didn’t say crush either!” Sansa shouts because she’s not _that_ interested, but the girls ignore her and continue on. 

“Is it the guy from the bar? Did you go back and get his number?”

“No!” Though she feels her cheeks burn and knows her friends see through her lies.

“It totally is!”

“How did you even swing that? You were helping me get Myranda in the car the whole time.”

“He’s in my speech class. We’re partners.”

“He’s way too old to be in college!” Myranda shouts.

She could tell them his story, he’d offered it up so freely, but after this afternoon, with Petyr, there’s a lingering desire to keep what she knows to herself. She answers with practiced aloofness. 

“He wanted to try something new. His name is Sandor, so we can stop calling him the guy from the bar.”

They squeal for a few more minutes, their laughter and silliness contained in one small car darting through the darkness. No decision is ever made, but they sing Taylor Swift at the top of their lungs, twisting through the dark curves that form Taena’s opulent neighborhood. 

As far as advisors go, Sansa is extremely thankful for Taena. After Cersei had kindly been asked to “step down”, Sansa had not seen how appointing the beautiful, but blithe woman would be a better option. After years of Cersei’s tight, oppressive reign on the chapter, they needed a leader that would take charge of the situation, not the social advisor, who laughed and giggled with Margaery during Sansa’s programming meetings and was known for her lavish, occasionally scandalous alumni parties. For all her socializing, Taena is a great leader, and an even better observer. Sansa’s had just as illuminating conversations with Taena as she’s had with Petyr.

Taena’s house is large, her husband mostly at work, her son off at boarding school, so a great place for meeting up and Taena’s more than happy to welcome the girls into her house. Tonight’s just a normal sisterhood but it is the first event of the semester with the new members. From the cars parked up and down the street and the laughter and noise from behind door, Sansa can tell it must be packed with girls. It’ll be a night of small talk and laughing with all the new members, surreptitiously scanning the crowd to make sure all the girls are feeling welcomed and no one’s closed off. Sisterhoods shouldn’t have any pressure, but until all forty-one girls they pledged (or 36.9 girls, 90% of the pledge class and what they need to keep to standards nationally) there’s no such thing as no pressure. 

“Ready?” Mya asks, hand on the door.

“Sure,” Sansa answers, plastering on her perfect bluebird smile. If anything, at least this night will take her mind of Sandor. “Let’s go.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic involves a lot of shameless ripping off of my own college experience, including being partners with an older dude who was in school thanks to a motorcycle accident ending his career goals of being a sky diving instructor. I did not have the hots for him though because I was too busy fawning over the professor. Which is not what's going to happen here.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short little chapter for you today, as well as a quick three week time jump.

On the first day speeches are scheduled to begin, Renly picks the order they’ll deliver speeches by drawing names from a hat. His rationale is to keep the selection fair but it still seems so cruel that Podrick’s is the first name he pulls. The young freshman had been so nervous delivering his short introduction of Daenerys that Renly had let him stop after only one horribly stammered sentence.

“There’s nothing to fear Podrick. We’re all friends here,” Renly says to the class, indicating their need to respond. They all mutter in agreement.

“I’ll go first,” Daenerys volunteers. “Just to break the ice.”

“Thank you Daenerys, but it wouldn’t be fair if we didn’t stick to the list. Podrick, just take a deep breath and remember all the methods we’ve been practicing.”

The past three weeks had been the most interactivity Sansa had done in any classroom in college. They pantomimed, they said the alphabet with a different “vocal tone” for each letter, spoke the lyrics to their favorite song while making eye contact with every person in the classroom, Renly clapping in their face if they looked away or lingered too long. Each day, before the beginning of class, Renly had them stand in a “power pose” for two minutes, a power pose being any stance that took up space, showed your dominance and power to the world. 

All Sandor had to do was stand up, and he’d already taken up more room than anyone else there. Sansa could see him watch her as she tried, hands on her hips or behind her head, both fall back positions that did little for her.

“Not feeling it, little bird?” Sandor had asked, their second day after the concept had been introduced.

“Of course, I am,” Sansa said, jutting out her chest and tilting her head up, looking as if she couldn’t care less, when honestly she’d been so distracted by him she’d picked a position that would keep her from looking at him, his thick arms crossed over his chest.

“Folded arms shows you’re closed off Sandor!” Renly shouted and with a weary sigh, Sandor unfolded his arms, hands coming to his hips, copying Sansa’s pose. The two of them stood there, in their identical stances, but Sansa knew they couldn’t look any less alike. How was anyone to look powerful next to him?

For today’s power pose, Sansa had tried something new, the “Captain Morgan” Daenerys had called it, laughter ringing in her voice, with one foot placed on her seat, the other sturdy on the ground, like some age old explorer, claiming this land in the name of their regent. All Sansa needed was a flag to complete the look.

“You chose the wrong day to wear pants,” had been Sandor’s commentary. 

Though Renly had said to take all the time he needed, the two whole minutes where Podrick stood at the front of the room, eyes clenched shut and face growing redder and redder, did not seem to be doing anything to improve Podrick’s courage.

“Would you like a minute outside?” Renly asked and Podrick’s ecstatic nodding was instantaneous.

“You ready?” Sandor asks, once the two leave the room.

“I think so,” Sansa answers, the “no thanks to you” kept in her mind with all the other discourtesies. “You?”

“It won’t be the first time I’ve had to speak in front of a room full of idiots.”

She nods, expecting an answer like that. 

Though her schedule had many P.E. related blocks, she’d been more than willing to sacrifice, texting Sandor a list of time to work together, including her lunch break and times usually dedicated to Harry. She’d offered up the space in her apartment, or renting a study room in the library, even sent him helpful links she’d found online. A single lined text, “I think I can do this just fine on my own” put a stop to that. Though still partners with Sandor in class exercises, Sansa spent any free time talking to Daenerys.

“So what did you finally end up picking as your topic?” She asked, turning away to face Daenerys.

Renly had stressed the importance of a good topic, the make or break of a good speech. Something important to you, he said, but something your audience would have an interest in. One day he’d had them write down five subjects they were passionate about and then swap with a partner and have them rank them in terms of interest.

The first one had been easy, she’d written Phi Epsilon before she’d even thought about it, and right under that she’d written family and a second later, friends. For the four spot, she supposed she’d put Harry, she _was_ passionate about him after all, but how would she give a persuasive speech on Harry? And for that matter, what would she persuade to the class about her family? Or her friends? She’d thought to erase them but a list with only one topic was too sad to consider.

“Ready to swap?” Sandor asked, once she’d set down her pencil on the tabletop they’d made from their two desks pushed together.

“No.”

“You look done.”

“I am done. I’m saying no to swapping.”

Sandor laughed at that, bitter and short, eyes glinting.

“You don’t want to see what an old, scarred, bastard like me could write--”

“No! That’s not it!”

He continued without addressing her question. “No? Maybe you don’t want me to read yours? Not that I’d need to see it, you’ve written down your perfect Harry, your perfect little blue birds. What else would you be passionate about?”

“You’re horrible! You jump to conclusions, and you talk about me as if I’m some dumb, vapid girl!”

Though she couldn’t help but consider her own vapidness if she could only think of three passions, two being the most routine. It still didn’t give Sandor the right to criticize her, and she refused to talk to him until their next class.

For the next few days she’d carried around her notebook, open to her list, hoping she’d find some inspiration.

“What am I passionate about?” She’d asked Harry one night as they both worked on schoolwork at his apartment.

“P.E.” He answered, without looking up from the books spread out on his lap.

“More than that, Harry. I can’t just be passionate about my sorority.”

“I don’t mean it like every other girl means it Sansa. You like… live for PE.” And when she asked Mya and Myranda later, their responses had been in the same vein. “You’re always the first to show up for any meeting, the last to leave, you attend nearly every single event. Out of anybody I know, you embody the PE motto.”

“Thanks Mya,” Sansa had said, meaning it more than the two words could convey. “But how do I get a persuasive speech out of that? Why Phi Epsilon is the best sorority? It’d be recruitment all over again.”

She’d posed the question on a topic on a skype call to her mother that quickly turned into her father and all of her siblings, save Robb, crowded into the webcam’s view. Barely any of the study was visible past the various body parts.

Their suggestions were many, only half Sansa could hear as her siblings shouted over each other. Rickon suggested she talk about banned books “cause you love reading and you could say ‘fuck’ and ‘bitch’ and talk about sex and stuff” and her mother, after scolding Rickon, had thought she might want to talk about fashion--as that was her first major. 

Beth suggests the same. 

“I know you switched out of fashion design, but you still like it. You could do something like your speech on why outfits make such an impression, remember?”

Sansa did remember the speech. After being removed from Vice President in the middle of her term sophomore year, the last thing Sansa wanted to do that April was to run for office, half in fear she would never be voted in and half because after that humiliation, ascending the ranks was no longer her goal. Petyr convinced her, which is how she found herself as Enrichment Chair for her junior year. It was not an executive board position, but planning an enrichment exercise for each chapter meeting had been far more enjoyable than she’d believed. One of those activities had been a “fashion show” with newly initiated girls (they had to do it after initiation as not to have it potentially labeled as hazing) on appropriate attire after some advisors had concerns over the Facebook photos of their recent mixer with Sigma Tau Upsilon. 

Sansa could mod that speech if she wanted, but half the fun had been seeing the girls in their inappropriate attire, and they couldn’t have visual aids so Sansa shelved the idea.

For a whole evening, Sansa sat with notebook out, trying to outline her speech, before finally discarding it. There was just not an argument for the topic. Maybe she could use it for informative speeches. 

At the point Sansa was nearing admitting defeat and asking for Renly’s help, Bran came to her aid.

Their conversation had been on Bran’s college applications, to Roth and Northwestern and, surprisingly, Hardhome. A part of her hopes he picks Roth, even though she’ll be graduated, it will be nice to have her little brother nearby. Another part of her thinks King’s Landing already took two Starks this generation, she can’t let it take another. 

A contemplative had gone over Bran’s face, his vision face they all called it, and he went quiet. When he came back, he’d moved on completely, college choices behind him. 

“You know San, it’s not a ‘topic’ like a hobby or anything, but I think I just realized the speech for you.”

Bran explained his idea over the tinny skype connection, Summer and Lady and Shaggydog panting in the background, and when he had finished, Sansa knew it’s the right one. The Skype call stayed open even as they both looked for articles for sources, or brainstormed the points of argument. By the time she had hung up, an hour and a half later, her speech was completely outlined. By the next afternoon, she had recited it for her brother’s approval. And not too soon, for only a few days later they had begun presentations.

“I did. You?” Daenerys asks. 

Sansa thinks of Bran, a thousand miles away, and smiles. “Finally.”

Renly and Podrick return, and though, Podrick looks just as panicked, he begins his speech on the benefits of keeping NASA funded. Through stuttering and pauses, Sansa can hear the passion behinds his words. She and Podrick both are startled when Renly calls time. 

“Well Podrick, I know we need to work on your stage presence, but I see great improvements just from your introductory speech. Class?”

The class is mostly supportive. They point out the obvious, that he’d gone over, that he’d used filler words and kept his arms crossed over his chest, but all commend him for knowledge on the subject--Daenerys included.

Only two turns later, Sansa’s name is the small white scrap pulled from the hat. A flurry of nervousness bubbles in her throat, and her heart hammers, despite her confidence in her topic and her presentation. Just walking to the front of the classroom and position the camera takes forever, pushes her to her max.

Facing a classroom of mostly placid students, camera pointed at her, Sansa takes a deep breath and begins.

“We’ve all heard the saying that it takes more muscles to frown than it does to smile. The numbers vary per adage, but the outcome is always the same. However, scientists have found there’s no real way to calculate the average smile. One study, done in Sweden, found them to be one number apart-- 12 for a smile, 11 for a frown-- but only on small, simple expressions. But for wider expressions-” Sansa contorts her face to an eyes squinting, mouth wide open smile, then an overblown pout “- those vary from person to person and can’t be measured. Which still leaves us in the dark, which takes more effort? A frown or a smile? Sadness or happiness?”

Sansa pauses for effect. The class looks modestly interested, though a few students are drifting off. Renly sends her an encouraging nod.

“In my speech today, I’ll argue that positivity, being happy is definitely harder than being negative”

When she finishes the class claps loudly, and Daenerys leans over to give her a highfive when she walks back to her desk. 

Thirty minutes later, Sandor’s is the last name to be called. He walks up to the front of the classroom, and begins without any of the hesitation of all the other students.

“Today, I’m going to tell you why Greek Life is the worst thing that has happened to college campuses.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that episode sure was something, wasn't it?  
> I had no hope of D&D giving me a satisfying ending, so at least I can say I wasn't let down. And I'm like 99% is not gonna do Sandor dirty like that. Or any of the other characters assassinated for D&D's crappy vision of the story.


	4. Chapter 4

“Alright, class, any thoughts?” Renly asks.

A few students hands shoot up instantly. All answer positively, praising Sandor’s passion, his knowledge of the subject, captivation of the audience. They’d all been riveted, eyes glued to Sandor, drinking in his words, nodding along with his reasoning and laughing every time he made a crude joke.

“For a speech with so much research, it was very rudimentary,” Sansa hears herself say, though her M.O. had been to ignore his harsh criticism. Half had been untrue or grossly exaggerated anyway. One point had been hazing, which had been strictly banned at Roth ages ago!

“Keep it constructive, Sansa” Renly warns. The small smile on his face shows he’s a little amused by the situation though.

“You didn’t employ a single technique. You stood in one spot, you didn’t use gestures, you stared-” at me “-at one spot the entire time, barely making eye contact.”

“I just don’t see why you have to have all the bells and whistles. Shit is shit, no matter what you dress it up in.”

The whole class laughs, even Daenerys, even Renly, who counters back as soon as he recovers, at least trying to gain some semblance of controlling the class.

“That is a unique view that I’d love to discuss, but this course is Public Speaking, teaching the conventional methods. While your speech as captivating and well researched, Sansa was right in it lacked the finesse. Some methods you could consider…”

As Renly continues his assessment, Sansa sits back into her seating, releasing some of the built up tension with a roll of her shoulders and small sigh. 

Once Renly is down, Sandor slides back into his seat, a smug presence Sansa can feel even as she scribbles in her planner, writing her to-do list for the day, scheduling a massage being the top item.

After she’s written the next ten items, returned her planner to her backpack and Renly’s giving them some parting thoughts, does she finally turn to Sandor’s attention.

The burnt side of his lip twitch in his smug expression that Sansa wouldn’t quite call a smile, though his mirth is apparent. Sadly, it does nothing to lessen the pull in her belly, though it’s easy, nothing at all, to tell him congratulations on his speech.

“We need to start our one-on-one practices though.” she adds on.

“Agreed, little bird.” Sandor replies, “Renly says you need to loosen up.” 

“And you’ll be the one to show me how to do that, I guess?”

Sandor smirks.

\---

Everyone asks how her speech went, like it was some grand task. Petyr had a lemon cake sitting on her desk when she got to work, Myranda posts an inspiring cat pic on her facebook wall, both Bran and her mom send her texts to see how she did. Sansa should be grateful, is grateful somewhat and her speech was good. Renly said she had mastery of topic and a good stage presence, her work would be in seeming natural and conversational. But, though it shouldn’t, Sandor’s speech sticks at the back of her head. A speech tearing apart Greek Life, a speech written for her. Sandor could have just said “Everything Sansa Stark believes is wrong, stupid, and immature” and nothing in his speech would have changed.

It would be as if Sansa would have gave her speech on… The immorality of security work.. or… or… 

When it becomes obvious she needs more information than their occasional chatting yielded, she sends him a text. 

_Do you have class at 12:30?_

_No._

_Do you want to get lunch?_

They meet at the doors to the cafeteria and Sansa covers both lunches with her meal plan, as she rarely spends it anyway.

The cafeteria is loud and crowded, the hot food line stretching nearly to the back of the room. Nearly every table is taken, but Sansa manages to find an empty one, a small two-top against the glass wall looking out into the union.

“I didn’t imagine lunch is the response I’d be getting from you.”

“For what?”

“Offending you’re little life.”

Sansa shrugs. “Renly said to pick something you’re passionate about. It’s honourable that you would care so much about the welfare of the students at this university.”

“I couldn’t care less about the people at this university. Fuckers should know what they’re getting into when the join a group based on paying for your friends.”

“Then what is your passion?”

“Fuck if I know. Passion’s something for rich fucks anyway. I spent most of my time working to keep a roof over my head, now I have to have a passion?”

Sansa takes a bite of her salad for time to stall. She can see what he means, but a life without passion is sad. Even if Sansa’s is just a social group, it’s something that gets her revved up day after day.

“Have you decided your major?” 

“It’s only the fourth week of school.”

“Anything you’re interested in?”

He narrows his eyes, eying her suspiciously, but eventually answers. “Physical therapy, maybe. It's a lot of science, but… I liked my PT.”

Sansa can’t help but laugh.

“What?” Sandor shoots, hackles raised.

“It’s just, you’d be… I can imagine you: ‘Move your fucking leg you pansy ass! It’s not too hard!’ You’d get results, to say the least.”

For the first time in their acquaintance, Sandor smiles. 

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you curse, little bird.”

“And the first time I’ve seen you smile.”

And like that, the seal is broken, talking becomes much easier. Sandor is a fun partner, rough, but intelligent, his insight so different from most other people she knows. They talk mostly about the Lannisters, the one thing they have in common. He laughs at when she tells him about the time Cersei got drunk at the alum-collegiate event and fell out her car, and then tops it of a story when Joffrey got trashed an Smirnoff Ices passed out at the movie theater. 

Eventually they get to talking about themselves. Sansa tells him about her hospitality classes and Sandor tells her how annoying it is to be in freshman classes at thirty-two. In no time at all, almost an hour and a half has passed and Sansa needs to leave soon if she wants to get to work on time. 

Beginning the motions to leave, collecting her plates, shouldering her backpack, Sansa ponders on her next words carefully. As they make to stand, Sansa grabs his forearm gently.

“Look Sandor, I want us to be friends.”

Sandor pulls his glance from her hand to her face, his expression impassive. “Don’t give any of that shit if you don’t mean it.”

“I do,” Sansa pleads. “We’re partners in class. We’re going to have to be comfortable around each other. It wouldn’t hurt, right?”

Sandor doesn’t answer.

“Look, it doesn’t have to be perfect… I’m not very good at it.”

“Somehow, I can’t believe that, little miss perfect. I hardly think there’s anything you’re bad at, least of all having friends.”

“Having guy friends,” Sansa clarifies. She tries to think of how to word how the older she got, the less men, even guys her own age, seemed to listen to her. How her interests and concerns had little bearing in their world. “I’ve never really had a guy friend. “

“I’m not making any promises that I’ll be your first.”

“Just, think about. I’ve got to go, I’m late for work.”

Sandors nods, wordlessly stacking her plates with his to bring to the garbage and dish return.

“Thanks! Think about it. I’ll text when to meet up!”

No one at works says a word about her being a few minutes later, not even Petyr during the thirty minutes after her shift she spends in his office. Homecoming is in a few weeks, and they have to win so they have other things to discuss.

Later that night, she’s sprawled across Harry’s bed, scrolling through instagram, waiting for her boyfriend to join her. Harry pops his head out from the bathroom.

“Hey babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Where were you at lunch?”

“What?”

“I got out of my lab early and I stopped by the table to see you and the girls said you usually eat at work, but weren’t at the office either. 

And it’s so utterly irrational, insanely irrational, that Sansa panics, heart filling with dread, lies forming in her head. All of the sudden, she is 19, at her “judicial hearing” facing down Cersei, Margaery, and the rest of her jury.

“I ate in the cafeteria. With a friend.” Sansa hopes her voice isn’t cracking, that sweat isn’t beading her forehead.

“Cool,” Harry says. “I probably won’t get out that early very often, but I’ll check there next time.” 

He pops his head back into the bathroom, and Sansa is left alone to calm herself down. It’s been nearly two years since then; Sansa has grown. and she is not the scared, shaking little thing in front of her tormentors. There are no tormentors, Joffrey is in jail, Cersei under house arrest in Casterly, Margaery knocked down a peg. There is no need to feel guilty or anxious with Harry; after all, by her own words Sandor is a friend, her statement to Harry had been the truth. By the time, he’s out from the bathroom and climbing into bed, she’s as cool and collected as the moment had never happened.

“Night, love” Harry says brushing a light kiss over forehead.

Sansa waits for his breathing to steady, a telltale snore beginning to build, before slipping out of his grasp, gingerly lifting the arm flung over her torso and inching far enough away that her leaving won’t wake him. Her sleeping troubles had started her freshman year, something with the new environment and added stress, and had only grown the next years. It's not uncommon to spend a night or two a week, lying awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to will herself to fall asleep. It's easier in her own room where she has her routines, her familiarities. She’d thought the comforting presence of her boyfriend in bed might help, but sleeping at Harry’s was usually an issue. His heavy, warm weight next to her only becomes more irritating by the minute.

For an apartment of three boys, three frat boys at that, the cleanliness is astounding, so she has no qualms on laying on the sofa, pulling the nearest blanket over her. It’s only 11:00, there are hundreds of people awake. 

On instagram, her sisters are posting pictures of partying, studying, catching a late show or concert. Less than ten minutes ago, Myranda uploaded a pic of the face masks she had made for her and Mya. Sansa could text one of them, her two best friends, or any of her dozens of sisters, her real sister even; distract herself from the task of falling asleep, or maybe help her through the restless, unsettled fog of the past few days. For a brief second, she wonders if Sandor’s awake, tries to picture how he spends his free time, wonders what he’d do if she texted him, “I can’t sleep and half of the reason is I’m thinking of you” in the middle of the night.

Instead, she starts up Netflix, opens to her list, and begins to watch.

\---

Thursday brings more speeches and little time to talk to either Sandor or Daenerys. Their next round of speeches starts nearly a month away, after Homecoming Week, and Renly hasn’t even covered informative speeches. Sansa lingers a little after class, reminds Sandor to start thinking of a topic, but there’s really not much to discuss.

Just as she’s turning to move away, his hand grips her shoulder, hot, even through the layer of her shirt, and strong.

“I still have a break at 12:30. And you said your meal credits are just going to waste.”

Sansa bites her lip to hide her smile, but she’s sure her satisfaction is evident as she agrees to meet him at the doors again. 

\---

Two weeks and four lunches together is not enough to become routine, not yet, but Sansa thinks she just might being getting used to this having a guy friend thing. Last Thursday, they hadn’t even agreed beforehand to meet and Sansa hadn’t realized until she already nearing glass double doors. Doubt began to creep in, but she could see his unmistakable large figure hulking amidst all the preppy khaki shorts and snapbacks.

On Tuesday of the third week, Sansa has to cancel lunch. The PE annual bake sale for St Jude philanthropy is Tuesday and Sansa had signed up to man the table 12:30 to 2:30 at the beginning of the semester. It had been like pulling teeth to get workers, even in a sorority of 80 + girl so much so that Sansa had made it mandatory for easy EC and PC member. You can't reap the benefits without sacrifice, Cersei would say. And sacrificing a little of her time? It’s nothing.

It doesn't feel that way, watching Sandor’s face fall after she tells him that they can't meet for lunch.

If Sansa wasn’t annoyed with his attitude, she’d be amazed by how quickly he goes from casual to closed off, as mean and surly as when they’d first met.

“I see. Of course you must have other plans,” he all but growls.

Sansa rolls her eyes at the petulant man before her. “Yes, I’m leaving you for a bake sale.”

“To raise money for what? New tutus?”

“Our philanthropy, St. Baelor’s.”

Sandor snorts, but doesn’t continue. For him, this is the closest to admitting defeat.

“I made my lemon cakes. They’re somewhat legendary” Legendary is probably an exaggeration but she has sold out every year. She’d brought well over 100 to the house that morning, just to keep up with demands. That number would be closer to 150 if she counted in the number Harry and his roommates had consumed.

“You’ll have to save me one, then. Bring it to our practice tonight.”

“We’re still on?” Sansa asks.

“You’re the one cancelling plans, Little Bird.”

Sansa smiles, unable to resist when he calls her that.

“Ok, well I have to go class now,” Sansa says as the silence between the grows. There’s no awkward lingering, Sandor just nods and heads off down the hall, without so much as a goodbye.

After class, Sansa arrives at the courtyard between the Union and the Rec Center right in the very swing of lunch hour. Even the with considerable area of the courtyard the wide walkways and tables are filled to the point that Sansa has to push her way through various crowds to the bake sale table.

The next hour passes quickly, Mya took off class and they sit together, discussing classes and greek gossip, supervising the sale, while mostly the younger girls handling the cash or handing out the goods. Some Iota Pi’s stop by, laughing and chatting, though Harry’s not with them. After the courtyard has mostly cleared, Petyr arrives and offers to buy out the rest of her lemon cakes, settling for only five and a $100 donation when Sansa coyly denies his initial request. Margaery and her retinue are there, decked out in their rose jerseys, selling blue bird shaped cookies and chocolate cupcakes with blueberry frosting. A sea of other girls separate them from Sansa and Mya, keeping them from having to interact.

After dead hour is over and classes begin again, the courtyard clears out and about half of their table does too, Mya included. There’s no one there she’s even remotely close to, a scenario she could never have dreamed possible as a freshman. Phi Epsilon would be all she needed for socialization, she’d have more best friends than she could count. And now, she’s on her cell phone, browsing pinterest and facebook. She could talk to the girls, she knows their names after all, Belle and Linnie Chelsted, Ariel Umber, one of Myranda’s grand-littles Leonora Swann, and on and on. Girls Sansa met during recruitment, or on bid day, or at their first chapter meeting. Girls she’s talked and laughed with on retreats or philanthropy events, but if you asked Sansa to name a specific memory, she’d come up blank.

“Still have some of those legendary lemon cakes?” Sandor asks. 

She nearly drops her phone in shock. She covers her surprise in a cough and an even, “I didn’t think you were coming,” before she stands up. 

Sandor shrugs, one armed. His other hand is at the table, hovering just over the ribbon on one of her lemon cakes. “I had some time after lunch. Didn’t want to miss out on Sansa Stark’s famous baking.”

Before Sansa can respond, there’s a hand coming around her waist and Harry’s voice in her ear.

“Hey babe, who’s your friend?” Sansa doesn’t need to turn around to know the look on his face.

“This is Sandor. Sandor this is Harry. My boyfriend.” 

Harry detaches himself from her, stretching out a hand that Sandor shakes with much condescension.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Sandor,” Harry adds. 

Sandor nods and offers a gruff “you too”. 

“Where did you two meet?” Harry asks.

“In class,” Sansa says at the same time Sandor says “A bar.”

Sansa shoots a quick glare to Sandor before turning to meet Harry’s inquisitive stare. 

“We met briefly that night I went out with Mya and Myranda.” If you could call being stared at meeting, but Sansa doesn’t add that. “And then Renly made us partners in Public Speaking,”

Harry’s eyes brighten at that, his casual, easy smile growing predatory as he looks back and forth between them. 

“Is that right? This is the partner you’ve -”

“Harry, not right now.” Sansa pleads. She can’t have Harry and Sandor getting in fight here and now, with all of PE watching. 

“I’ll get out of your hair then, little bird.” Sandor says, and Sansa could collapse back into her chair in relief.

Sansa hands Sandor one of her lemon cakes, and after a terse exchange of goodbyes, Harry watching it all with a glare, Sandor heads off.

Once he’s out of eyesight, Sansa turns to Harry whiplash fast.

“What the hell was that?”

In the year and a half of dating, Harry’s been nothing short of perfect. Funny and kind but still distanced from her friends, charming to her family, respectful to her. He’d never been aggressive on the rare occasion they fought, nor mocking or dismissive. 

“What was what? You didn’t tell me your partner was a grown man… He looks fucking rough Sansa!”

“Harry-”

“I don’t know if he’d take you in a back alley to fuck you or steal your kidney.”

“Harry!” Sansa shouts, drawing the attention of not just PEs but several other people in the crowded quad. Some of her sisters had been watching surreptitiously, but now they’re stares are fully on her and Harry. 

Sansa pulls Harry to the side of the Rec Center, somewhat out of focus from their audience.

“That’s insane!” She hisses once everyone’s back to their previous activities, or at least has pretended to. “Are you threatened by him? I would think you were secure enough--”

“I am Sansa! I trust you. But, I don’t know, there’s something about him, I don’t…”

Sansa can guess, “ I don't want you seeing him” will come out at some point if they continue that line of conversation. That can’t happen, not here, not now, not after Joffrey.

“Harry, this is not appropriate to discuss here. ” This is the voice that faced down Cersei and Margaery, that testified at Joffrey’s hearing, that removed girls from office. “Now, buy a lemon bar or…” Leave seems too harsh, even for Harry, so she lets the suggestion linger, Harry will know what she means.

They don’t discuss it. Sansa goes to work, ignoring texts from Myranda, who’s heard the story and wants Sansa’s version, and Mya, who no doubt has as well, but only asks if Sansa wants to get fro-yo later. Her texts tone goes off near the end of work, and Sansa’s plan of avoidance is curbed when she sees the sender.

_still on_ . He doesn’t even add a question mark.

_Yes, see you @ 7._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy! I'm suchakidder on tumblr too so if you ever want to chat or ask questions, you can look me up there. I don't post that much ASOIAF and when I do, its usually criticism of the show, so I definitely won't be offended if you don't want to follow. Thanks again, all reviews are much appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

“Your boyfriend seems nice,” Sandor says as soon as Sansa sits down in the library meeting room she had put on reservation at the beginning of the semester. 

Expecting that reaction, Sansa had come prepared. Aside from venting with Mya and Myranda at Menchies, she’d spent the afternoon working on a perfect response on the ordeal at the bake sale. Something that would say she while she wasn’t excusing Harry’s actions, she didn’t want any judgement on her relationship with Harry. Something that would shut down any idea that her boyfriend was possessive or jealous. Something that would sound natural. Renly’s assessment was right; she would need all the practice she could get on sounding conversational. All her smiles seemed fake, her hand movements so contrived. Watching herself in the mirror felt more like watching an infomercial.

And the practiced resort flies right out the window once she looks at Sandor’s face, teasing glint, burnt lip pulled up in the hint of a smirk or smile. 

“At least he’s an improvement over my last boyfriend,” Sansa finds herself saying, not the reply she’d written up but an honest one at least. 

“You’d be hard pressed to find anyone who wasn’t an improvement over that cunt. Unless you meant another boyfriend after Joffrey.”

“No, no. It’s just been Harry,” Sansa answers too quickly, and then finds her mouth moving again in effort to cover up the hasty, pressured air of her response, “You?”

“Me?” Sandor asks. 

“You, have you been with any girls-”

“Since Joffrey? You do know I was his bodyguard, Sansa, not-”

“You seemed interested in my dating history, it’s only fair I know yours too.”

“Hard to have a dating history when the girls you pick up hardly stay for a cigarette after, much less breakfast the next morning. I’ve had a couple of longer runs but I don’t know if they’d be up to your standards of dating. No monthiversaries or ‘facebook official’ posts. I doubt I’ve ever been someone’s man crush monday.”

There’s a hardness there, that Sansa hardly thinks is fair as he was the one to start with bringing up Harry, but the more Sansa turns over the words in her head, the more she gets stuck on the last bit. 

“You seem really in the know, for someone I doubt has social media. I can excuse facebook official, but man crush monday? Really?”

Sandor face stills, and for a moment its hard to understand what’s happening, but twin splotches of pink are raising on his cheeks. 

She searched facebook and hadn’t found anything but… “You have an instagram?”

“No!” Sandor answers as quickly as she had just earlier.

“You can’t lie to me Sandor, not without coming off as quite the hypocrite.”

“Arguing over social media with a sorority president; my expectations for college were all wrong. Fuck, can’t believe I’m gonna tell you this, little bird. I don’t… you know how teenage girls can be.”

“Myrcella?” Sansa asks finally, thinking of the one teenage girl within both of their acquaintance. “What does she have to do with this?”

“She thought it’d be funny. I don’t get any of it, but apparently it had lots of followers.”

The instagram account is full of pictures in the supposed day of a “glorified manny” with his high class charge. Stops to Starbucks, Sandor’s arms loaded with shopping bags, views from the waiting room at the salon, occasionally selfies with Myrcella’s springy blonde curls pressed up against Sandor’s scowl. Each picture has at least one thousand likes, and the account has just under 100K followers.

“Some of these posts are pretty self-deprecating if it’s really Myrcella writing them.” Sansa teases, flashing the pic of Myrcella at Lollapalooza.

“You think I’d write ‘firstworldprobs- Daddy paid for Lolla, but I have to bring my bodyguard’. I don’t even know half of that means. I don’t know why she didn’t do this shit with her actual bodyguard, Oakheart. I just provided backup”

Aerys Oakheart had been in some of the pictures too, even one of Balon Swann, but it’s cleary Sandor who’s the focus. Pictures of Aerys dabbing with Myrcella and her friends or dressed up to accompany them to the Ren Faire just don’t have the same humor when the bodyguard is participating happily.

“To rile you up, obsv.” 

Sansa hadn’t seen much of Myrcella or Tommen as by the time she’d met Joffrey, senior year of high school, he was far too above hanging out with his younger siblings. The trips they would take, the week in Greece, skiing in St. Moritz, weekends at the Hamptons, were either the two of them or with Joffrey’s fraternity brothers. Occasionally, they’d go to the house in DC but with Cersei splitting time between Casterly Rock and the D.C. house, Tommen being tugged along with her wherever she went, and Myrcella at a prep school in Maryland, time when all of the Baratheon siblings were home was rare. But from her memories, Myrcella and Tommen were always much more kind and outgoing than their brother. Myrcella always called her sister in law and wanted to gossip about college.

Sansa can easily picture Myrcella laughing over these posts with her friends, picking fun at their rich privileged lives. However, the last instagram post, Sandor frowning in the driver’s seat of some luxury convertible, while Myrcella has her hands thrown up in the air beside him, is from over two years ago. With the Lannister name dragged through the mud in the public circus of the multiple court cases, Myrcella had relocated somewhere even the paps couldn’t find, and in her one statement to the press was “taking time to herself”. Sansa tries not to think of her too often, suffering the sins of her family, the sins Sansa helped to bring to light. 

“Harry really is a good boyfriend,” Sansa says, sobered by thinking about Myrcella. “I’m not trying to condone how he talked to you, but you know you didn’t help much either.”

“I said hello, shook his hand and all,” Sandor says, playing at innocence. It doesn’t work when Sansa can see how hard he’s trying not to laugh. “Are you saying there was a nicer way to treat that dick?” 

There’s no practicing after that. The energy is too high, they’re too wired, stopping to laugh at every pause or stumbling over words in their haste. Sandor suggests a walk.

In the moonlight, the grounds are wild, a bit mysterious; century old tree branches groaning as they sway back and forth in the autumn wind, the leaves casting patterned shadows on the ground. It’s only the first week of October, and already a few Halloween decorations are starting to pop up. Next week they’ll all be overshadowed by the Homecoming decorations, banners and signs, mock football players and cheerleaders, depictions of the Roth dragon defeating the bat mascot of their rival, Harrenhal College. But for now, the campus has only a few pumpkins, haystacks, one lonely scarecrow on the far quad that causes Sansa to jump when she catches it out of the corner of her eye. 

In the end, Sandor walks her back to her apartment. When they say goodbye, Sansa lingers, wanting something more. Friend’s can hug right? And Sansa feels comfortable stating they are friends now. But she can’t bring herself to move, and Sandor leaves with after raising one hand in a wave. 

The rest of the week passes without incident. Harry moves on, “doesn’t want to talk about it” and unless the weird jealousy rears its ugly head again, Sansa will write up his behavior as one off. He takes her out to dinner to make up for it, goes down on her for what seems like hours that night in bed, and by the next morning it’s like nothing happened. Lunch with Sandor on Thursday sees them talking mostly about Myrcella, Sansa having time to pore over the entire page, going back to the very first post. 

And then it’s time for sisterhood retreat.

As if recruitment weren’t torturous enough, there’s the sisterhood retreat a few weeks later to remind everyone how much they just love spending uninterrupted time with only each other, only now they’re secluded in some rich alumni’s craftsman mountain home, miles away from civilization. In some ways it’s easier than recruitment; there’s not the physical exertion of tearing down one day’s decoration to replace with the next day’s or standing and talking for hours on end, nor so much of a show the must be displayed perfectly for the prospective new members. 

Instead, there’s plenty of guided bonding experiences, meant to open up the reticent girls and stress the importance sisterhood and friendship. They build crafts, work on team building, fill the house with streamers and lilies and cosmetic bags. 

Friday morning, Sansa and Beth leave before noon to get to the mountain house before the girls. Her car is loaded to the gills with supplies- decorations, activities, the dry goods. For the first half hour of the drive, she and Beth sing along to the radio, interspersed with gossiping about the new members. Around them, the hills are alight with fall colors. 

In Montana, arctic winds would already be making their way south, the days shorter and darker. But Virginia autumn is so nice, the air crisp and cool. This is the only concession to Sansa’s tire popping. 

Harry’s in class, Robb hasn’t answered his phone, and her dad is hundreds of miles away, the most he could do is offer advice Sansa doesn’t need, as they’ve already dug through the glove compartment for the owner’s manual, unloaded the trunk to get to the jack, and still can’t get beyond the lifting the car off the ground. 

Sansa’s fingers hover over Petyr’s name… Beth is with her, she wouldn’t be alone with him out here in the wilderness with his smiles and touches, but she indebted to him yet again.

“We could just call roadside assistance” Beth points out.

Sansa nods, she has an emergency credit card for times such as these, but there’s an idea at the back of her mind. 

“Let me call one more person, then we’ll do that.” Sansa says, takes a deep breath, and hits call. 

“Sansa,” Just her name. No greet, no pleasantries, just the low flat two syllables. 

“Hi Sandor, are you busy?” There’s voices in the background, the hum of life and clanking metal and Sansa is beginning to regret her choice. 

“Yes, do you need something?”

“Well if you’re busy then--”

“Don’t give me that. If it was worth calling, it’s worth my time. What do you need?”

Sansa gives him the address and forty-five minutes later his pickup pulls up. Sandor swings out of the front seat in only a tank top and athletic shorts. It’s the most Sansa’s ever seen of him and she follows the lines of ink, on his right shoulder, down and under the fabric of his damp grey top. 

“This is Brienne,” Sandor says brusquely, a harsh nod at the woman Sansa hadn’t noticed before, stepping from the passenger side. She’s nearly as big as Sandor, her fair and blond hair cropped even shorter than Mya’s.

“Sandor and I were sparring at the gym when you called, Sansa, so I came along to help. Nice to meet you.”

Sansa meets her in a firm handshake, while Sandor folds his arms over his chest.

“I said I’d be able to do it myself,” he grunts. 

“You two spar often?” Sansa asks, at a loss. She doesn’t even know what type of sparring. Sandor’s never mentioned any type of martial arts nor any Brienne’s, nor any friends. 

“Sandor and I met in PT last year” Brienne says, as if that explains anything. 

“You two look like you’ve got it alright, what’s wrong?” Sandor asks, motioning over to the side of her car. Sansa’s never had a tire need to be changed like this before, and neither had Beth, but her friends had once, so with that knowledge and the owner’s manual, they were able to lift the car high enough, but the stubborn lug nuts hadn’t budged, even when Sansa stood on the wrench. 

Sandor nods. “Some automated wrenches they use at the shop make the nuts tough little buggers, but you’re supposed to loosen them before you even lift the car, maybe that will help.” 

“What kind of trip are you going on?” Brienne asks while Sandor gets to work. “Sandor didn’t say, but I don’t think he even asked.” 

“It’s a retreat for our sorority. Sansa’s president.” Beth answers. 

“That’s nice.” A pause and then, “ Though that’s not really how I pictured a bunch of girls relaxing though.”

“It’s for bonding,” Sansa snaps. “We mostly do sisterhood activities.”

“It’s miserable.” Beth says to both Brienne and Sandor’s amusement. 

“Beth!”

“What? It is. That many girls? Together all secluded? At least one huge fight breaks out, someone’s stuff gets stolen, someone feels left out in the rooming situation. It causes more problems than the supposed bonding.”

“Well, that’s what you get to when you pay for your friends,” Sandor says, walking over to them to drop a lug nut in Sansa’s hands. Both Brienne and Beth laugh and the best Sansa can do is not to glare. 

Sansa lets Beth and Brienne head to the back of the car and start working on freeing the spare, while she steps closer to her car. Sandor’s squatting at her front tire, an impressive mass of muscle and hair and ink as he clenches turns the wrench. 

“What’s got your panties in a bunch?” 

“Excuse me?”

“Something’s crawled up your ass today. You’re as tense as our first day in class.”

“You did insult my sorority.” 

Sandor hands her another lugnut. “I do that often, you usually don’t get worked up.”

“This weekend is important, and my perfectly good tired popped out of nowhere.”

“Nowhere, really? You didn’t notice it was getting low? Think about stopping to put air in next time you fill up but never did?”

Sansa blushes.

Sandor grunts and returns to his task. Beth and Brienne are talking at the trunk, close enough that Sansa could listen in if she wanted, but she’s focused on the scene before her, Sandor knelt before her car, fall foliage beneath his knees and the crisp air around them. 

Her texts tone goes off. 

_There yet?_ Mya asks, and Sansa remembers Myranda’s clunker, some 90s Honda she’d found when she was sixteen and only had a few thousand to spare. As a rule, they only take Mya or Sansa’s car when they go out in response to the dozen or so times they’ve been stranded due to some malfunctioning part. Three tires had popped, the fault of an uneven alignment Myranda kept forgetting to take in, and Mya had changed them all three times.

_Almost._ Sansa replies, forgoing mentioning their current situation. Mya would chew her out for not calling her first.

“Where’s that boyfriend of yours?” Sandor asks once all nuts removed and deposited in her hand, and he’s sat back to remove the hub cap.

“In an engineering lab,” Sansa answers.

The one time she’d tried at digging into his personal life had ended well, despite the glare and awkwardness he’d told her a little of his dating habits and inadvertently, his social media presence, but she doesn’t have the bravery to do it again. 

“Too bad, I’m sure he would have loved to play Prince Charming coming to the rescue. Guess you’ll have to settle for me.”

“I’m not settling. Settling would be calling Triple A”

Sandor looks up to her with something close to a smile and Sansa feels the heat in her cheeks, the corners of her lips curling up and oh well, she’s already busted, what more harm could she do?”

“So you and-”

“Got the tire!” Beth calls and then there’s a tire to swap, the nuts are fastened in and her car is lowered and Brienne is saying goodbye to Beth.

“Thank you so much, Sandor.” Sansa says, “I really mean it.” 

“It’s fine.” 

“No really, you should let me do something. I’ll take you to dinner maybe. If that’s alright with..”

“With?”

“You. Or anyone who would care.”

“I think you’re boyfriends the only one caring in this case. Fuck him, I’d take you up on your offer just to piss him off.”

“Brienne won’t care?” Sansa asks in a moment of bravery.

“Why would I give a fuck what Brienne thinks about this?” 

Sansa shrugs and there’s a perfect excuse to hide her question. “Well she came to help too, she won’t be offended if I don’t ask her out with us?”

“I told her it’d be fine if she stayed. She’s fucking persistent, that one. I don’t think she actually believed I had a friend who would call for my help. That or she wanted to protect you, I don’t fucking know.”

“Well, tell her I said thanks for protecting my virtue.” 

There is no hug or handshake, much like Tuesday night, Sandor just nods and climbs back into his truck. Sansa watches until the black metal glint in the sun is just a trail of dust.

The phone rings a few minutes later, as Sansa is just beginning to pick up momentum driving. She answers without looking, breathless and slightly exhilarated.

“Hello?”

“You ok Sansa?” It’s such a shock, a voice she wasn’t expecting at all, though she can’t say if it was really Sandor she wasn’t expecting or what else.

“Who’s this?”

“Oh my god Sansa. I know it’s been a few weeks but you’re telling me you seriously my voice?”

“I have three brothers Robb, things can get a little confusing.” And Robb laughs, buying her line, which is after all true. Rickon’s still young, but after Bran’s voice started to change, there was a definite similarity to Robb’s, as well as Jon and her father. Thank god for cell phones; in the time of house lines, Sansa would get mistaken for Arya or her mother and no caller could ever tell the boys apart.

“There’s this great thing called Caller ID, Sanny, maybe you want to look into it. Anyway, what’s up?”

“I’m driving. I’m not gonna look at my phone when it rings. And it’s good now. I’m on the way to PE retreat and I’m tire popped--”

“Shit, where are you? Don’t you have in it some mansion up in the mountains?”

“Yeah, we’re on the road. But it’s good. I called a friend who came to help, and I can drive on the spare at least to the house. Maybe tomorrow I’ll go into town and get a new tire.”

“What friend? Do I know him?”

Sansa doesn’t even think about lying, she’s just doing her her voice steady as she says, “Just a friend of Beth’s. She’s with me.”

They chat for another minute, long enough to assure Robb she’s fine, but driving and needs to focus on the road.

“Why’d you say it was my friend?” 

Beth is a nice blend of Myranda’s good cheer and Mya’s directness, with a unique strain of her own cleverness.

“Robb asks a million questions, he’d want to know if who they were, how I knew them. And he’s such a gossip.”

Sansa pulls her eyes from the road to meet Beth’s unimpressed glare.

“Who is he Sansa?” and at Sansa’s silence she adds, “ If you don’t answer I’ll ask you again at Hot Seat.”

“Sandor is a friend. We met the night before school started at The Sellsword.”

“Did you fuck?”

“Oh my god, Beth, no! I wouldn’t do that to Harry. We didn’t even talk then. But.. I think he wanted to. Fuck me, that is.”

“Newsflash Sansa--lots of guys want to. You do know you’re hot right?”

Sansa’s not unaware of her attractiveness. She knows the power she holds in a winning smile or low cut top. But Sandor doesn’t look at her like the other guys. When he looks at her, she feels laid bare, exposed from the inside out. He looks at her like he’s starved and she wants to let him consume her.

“I think I want that too. More than just being attracted.” She wants the whole of him over her, on top of her, inside her. Even just talking with Beth, she starts to get that feeling in her belly, and she clenches her thighs.

“But I have Harry, you know?”

“Do you love him?”

Sansa ends up answering that one at Hot Seat even without Beth there in the group. With eighty plus girls, Hot Seat would take hours and hours if they did it all together and even for the delicious torment it delivers, that’s just too long so they split into four groups. It’s Lark Caron who asks, not even a Rose, though there are plenty in her group of twenty. Alla and Megga sit side by side, watching Sansa with deceptively blank eyes, but there’s also Meredyth Crane, Ada Ambrose, Elisha Cuy, Krista Farring and other girls Sansa knows wouldn’t mind bringing her down.

“Sansa, do you think Harry is your soulmate?” Lark asks. Sansa’s has only spoken to the junior a few times, but that’s the appeal of Hot Seat.

The answer is taking too long, Sansa should have answered yes or she didn’t believe in soulmates or anything other than the lengthening silence. Megga and Alla share a look and Ada sniggers. 

“It it’s too personal…” Lark begins.

“No. No, I’m sorry, I’m a little preoccupied. I don’t know if Harry is my soulmate. I don’t really believe in soulmates, but I love Harry very much and we work hard to make our relationship work.”

“What issues do you even have?” Serena asks, a toss of honey gold hair in the darkened bedroom. 

“The usual. We’re both very busy with school and work and our involvement in Greek Life.”

“Does he have the traits you always wanted?” And there’s Alla, sugar sweet and genial. “Like as a little girl did you dream of someone like him?”

There aren’t enough numbers to count the stars she wished on. She wished on birthday candles and dandelions, any fate she used to wish to find her man, handsome charming, who would hold her hand as he took on romantic dates. 

“He’s a dream come true,” Sansa answers.

Those had been the exact words she’d used to describe Joffrey to her mother the night they met. It was her first frat party, and her big sister had left her, and Joffrey found her, welcomed her in, poured him a drink and kept her at his side for the rest of the night. She didn’t care that it was late and she was tipsy, she dialed her mom before Joffrey’s car had even left the dorm parking lot and told her mom she’d just met the man she was going to marry.

“Have you felt that way about anyone other than Harry?” Ada asks.

Sansa wonders if they planned this or if Ada’s really curious. She wonders if it has to do with the bakesale Tuesday, if there’s something there they think they can use.

“I did. I certainly thought so of Joffrey before he fucked Margaery.”

She never told. There was no one to tell, after she came back to school her sophomore year, a silly, hopeful girl, to find Margaery with Joffrey and Megga in her spot in the bedroom at the house. Margaery had been the friend to introduce her to other girls, they made it clear what side they picked. And after she lost her position, and had nothing else in Phi Epsilon, she had Petyr in her ear, persuading her to sell the story that Sansa had been the one to leave Joffrey, that Margaery had her sloppy seconds. He told her this would be the first step of her redemption. She would be poised, she would be classy, she would not tell gossip. 

Someone in the room actually gasps, though in the dark it could be anyone. The girls are stunned, but finally, one of the Hardy twins speaks up.

“Sansa, I.. I didn’t know, I’m so sorry.” Gwen and Gen Hardy, while not necessarily in Sansa’s ‘clique’ were always fun, dependable girls. They’d gone to parties together, served on committees together, promoted each other for elections. “I just can’t imagine… How did you forgive your sister for doing something like that to you?”

“Well, you know lots of girls have sex to make themselves feel better about themselves, and once I realized that, it wasn’t hard at all to forgive her.”

The news spreads even quicker than Sansa had anticipated. Hot Seat has never claimed to be confidential, why would it be when the point was only to get to know each other better? Myranda, Mya, and Beth will tell her what they learned, who cried, who is much cooler than they originally thought, what freshmen is a threat, later in the privacy of their room. The other sisters don’t even wait that long. Lark is whispering furiously with some sisters as soon as they regroup from Hot Seat and Sansa can feel the glares from the Rose family all night. Sansa is hardly the first to have a sister sleep with her boyfriend and will not be the last, but the revelation of the two heads of the most prominent cliques currently having such a torrid past does shock the rest of the chapter. 

Throughout the rest of the weekend, she sees many girls giving her supportive glances, a few scornful. Margaery, as she suspected, doesn’t act out of the ordinary at all, but there is a chilliness to her interactions with the girls outside of the Rose family. At least five girls come up to Sansa, to apologize, to get gossip, to tell her she’s strong. 

Sunday morning, Sansa is just turning out of the driveway, Mya and Myranda in her car as Beth caught a ride with the new member she was vying to make her little, when the phone rings, Mom lighting up the caller ID.

“Hey mom-”

“Sansa! Robb just told me about your tire, are you alright?”

“He’s such a drama queen, mom I’m fine. Beth called a friend and then I got it replaced yesterday. “ Sansa does not miss the look between Mya and Myranda.

“Well, that’s very nice of her friend. You have just called Triple AAA honey. Do you need money?”

“Mom, I’m fine, I have plenty”

Her mom sounds barely placated, but she sighs, deciding to move on. “How was the retreat?”

Aside from her statements at Hot Seat, which Myranda claimed would go down as legendary, there was more crying, more drama, the two junior cliques had an impressive turf war. Harry told her the Iota Pi retreats always ended with at least one fist fight, thanks to the alcohol they were not only allowed but encouraged to drink. If Sansa hadn’t held Belle Chelsted back, their retreat would have ended the same way. Instead they’d let the girls cool down and talked it over until two in the morning. 

“It was great. Lots of bonding. And we got ready for Homecoming.” 

After a few minutes of chatting, Sansa ends the conversation and addresses the sly looks Mya and Myranda have been giving her. 

“What?”

“‘Beth called a friend’?” Mya asks. “Nice try Sansa, Beth told us the story.” 

“Since when do you have big guy’s number?”

“Sandor and I are partners in class, you know that.”

“Partners? As in giddy up for a ride?”

“As in we work on our speeches together outside of class sometimes. And get lunch. Occasionally.”

She thinks back to their first lunch, when she’d told him she wanted to be friends. She meant it then, still means it, but she thinks about the pause last night. Why was it so hard for her to say she loved Harry?

All of their banter, the way Sandor has been picking on Harry since Tuesday. If she were someone else, if this was Myranda telling her this story, she would assume they were flirting, fuss at Myranda for doing so when she has a boyfriend. And if Harry was the one doing it with someone else… 

“Is that weird, to get lunch together?” She asks, uncertain. 

Mya and Myranda’s silence answers that enough. 

“It wouldn’t be weird if you didn’t have a thing with him.” Mya answers finally.

Sansa wants to protest, it wasn’t a thing. It was… a moment. And if that had been all it was, they locked eyes at a bar once, it wouldn’t be a thing. If she’d told him she wasn’t interested, if she didn’t flirt with him in class and at lunch. 

“What do I do?”

“Well, you do have a resident heartbreaker in your presence.” Myranda says knowingly. “If there’s one thing I’m better at than seducing a man, it's getting him to move on once I’m done with him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My best friend is getting married this Friday, then I'm moving apartments Saturday and Sunday, then it's my birthday next week so I can't promise I'll be able to post again within a week but it shouldn't be too much of a delay! 
> 
> Also, I've never heard of/played Hot Seat anywhere but my sorority, but apparently it's a common enough thing because when I searched "hot seat questions" on google I got plenty of results. If you're not familiar with it, the "game" is really simple. You put one person on the spot and ask them questions for a set amount of time (ours was seven minutes) that they should answer truthfully. It's supposed to be for bonding and plenty of the time, it was pretty harmless, but occasionally girls would use it to confront someone in front of the whole chapter to embarrass or otherwise hurt the girl in question. Fun times!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That E rating finally becomes a little bit relevant here ;)

Sansa rejects most of Myranda’s solutions- she still wants to be friends with Sandor after all, but eventually decides she has to create some space. That seems the mature, appropriate thing to do. They can go back to somewhere between the first few weeks iciness and their newfound friendship.

Once she’s back to King’s Landing, Sansa calls him and it’s just Sandor, no talking or noise in the background. He’s quiet as she explains her schedule for the next week, a different Homecoming event each night, with float decorating, skit practice, preparing dishes for tailgating, etc. There’s no way she can do any one on one sessions, she might not even make lunch on Tuesday or Thursday.

“Is that it?”

Bringing up the dinner she promised would only remind him of it, so she leaves that out.

“Yeah, that’s it’s. I just wanted to apologize that I won’t be able to give any time to our speeches this week.”

“Alright, good to know, “ Sandor says and ends the call. Nothing feels different, but she knows its right to have space. They can finish the semester as friends and go on. Her last semester of classes will be 400 level HRT, there’s no risk of having the same class again. 

On Tuesday and Thursday their classes pass like normal. Sansa doesn’t plan to outright ignore Sandor or anything- one, that would be rude, and two, he is still her partner- but she’s careful to include Daenerys in their pre-class chatter. As for lunches, Sansa doesn’t even have a chance to stop by the cafeteria either day with an office-wide meeting at work Tuesday and then the Homecoming Parade on Thursday. 

After work on Friday afternoon, Sansa stops by her dorm, hoping for maybe a quick nap before the pep rally and bonfire. Just as she’s laying down, fully clothed and atop her covers, her mom calls.

“I’m sorry, I know you must be so busy, I just wanted to make sure you were ok with Arya coming next week.”

“What?

“She didn’t ask you? I knew something was wrong. Oh, I told her she’d be better staying at Robb’s but she said she wanted to experience college life. I did find that suspicious, but I was hoping you two would enjoy some time together. Perhaps you could even inspire her.”

Ivy League had never seemed her little sister’s scene, but Arya shocked them all by announcing she had no plans to go to college any time soon. Her parents warred with her over her senior year, but the only application Arya had submitted had been for the peace corp. Even getting her to walk in graduation had been a battle. Tensions rose over the summer to the point Sansa cut her summer vacation short and headed back to King’s Landing in the middle of July. Even with Arya taking classes at the community college now, the subject of her future plans was a touchy one.

“No, um… I’m sorry, I forgot with all this HoCo business that it was next week already, that’s all.” Without a doubt, Sansa knew the last time she’d been in contact with her sister was a text on her birthday. Usually, she wouldn’t be so complacent in covering for Arya, but if Sansa ruins this for her, there’s no way she’ll get the story and Sansa is curious as to what her sister would be up to in King’s Landing.

“Oh thank goodness, she’s so independent and I try not to pry.”

“Don’t worry Mom, I’ll take care of her.” Though her sister hardly ever needed taking care of, and if she did, Sansa would be the last person she’d let do it.

“My good girl. I’ll let you go now?”

Nap ruined, Sansa calls Arya and predictably, it goes to voicemail.

_Pick up or I’m telling Mom you never asked me about visiting._

Arya answers on the first ring. “Fuck, she called you?”

“Were you going to tell me you were staying at my apartment? Were you even planning on coming to King’s Landing at all? I’m not covering for you if you’re running of to Croatia or something.”

“God, you can be such a bitch sometimes.” Arya grumbles. For the sake of being the older sister, Sansa lets it pass.

“Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Listen, I am coming to King’s Landing, “Arya continues, “and I was going to sleep at your place only ___if___ I needed to, but now I’ll figure something else out.”

“Figure something else out? Will you sleep at Robb’s?”

“Of course not. He’d want to know where I was going, who I was going with. I figured you wouldn’t give a shit were I was going as long as I was out of your hair. I didn’t think Mom was gonna get nosy and call around.”

“Well, what are you up to?”

“None of your business.”

“Arya, I just care about you. If there’s all this secrecy then I feel a little uncomfortable.”

“It’s… nothing. San, really, can’t I just want to visit King’s Landing?”

“Isn’t everybody coming down for Thanksgiving at Aunt Lysa’s anyway? Why now?”

“Listen, I’ll just couch surf or something, just don’t tell Mom, alright?”

“No.”

“What?”

“No,”

“Oh my god Sansa, why do you always have to-”

“No, if you’re coming to King’s Landing, you’re going to stay with me. And I won’t ask questions, you just have to be back every night.”

Arya is quiet for a long minute, then finally, “I think I can work with that.”

“By midnight.”

“You’re pushing it now.”

Despite not getting her nap, Sansa leaves for the pep rally awake, almost restless, mentally planning for her sister’s visit. The last time she’d seen Arya had been her family visiting for Christmas last year; she had been visiting a friend in San Francisco the whole two weeks Sansa went home over the summer. Sansa had been hurt when her mom had told her Arya wouldn’t be home at all, even a little suspicious that her sister had purposefully planned to be out of the house those weeks. Their relationship had never been good. If absence makes the heart grow fonder, all moving out seemed to do was stop their fighting. Sansa was hard pressed to consider them close. 

This visit probably won’t change that, but to Sansa there’s something so sad about the idea that Arya would be in her city, experiencing whatever it was she was coming here for, and not sharing it with anyone. Plus, even if Arya could take care of herself, Sansa would rather her sister annoyed with her and alive than turned into the newest true crime podcast.

\---

The pep rally was cold and wet and Sansa was thankful for the bonfire afterwards. It was one of the only events where the student body mingled, instead remaining in the rigid social groups. The copious amounts of alcohol available probably factored in to that. Sansa lost her sisters early on, but she’s ok to mingle, warm from the fire and the couple of beers in her system. She looks for Mya or Myranda, or Harry’s shock of blonde hair. Instead she sees broad shoulders and dark hair, a head taller than most of the crowd. 

“Sandor!” Sansa calls, and then louder when he doesn’t turn. She pushes forward to him, pushing people out of the way until she’s at his side.

“Sandor!”

“No need to shout little bird.”

Sansa giggles. “Sandor, I was calling you!”

“Are you drunk?”

Sansa shakes her head “Of course not. I’ve only had a beer or two.” Plus the occasional swig from Mya’s flask.

“They don’t let you drink at the parade, which is a bunch of bs, because everyone else can. But no, PEs are too good for that.”

Someone laughs and for the first time Sansa considers that Sandor might not have been alone.

“Are you here with friends? Why are you hiding them from me?”

She pushes at his chest, tiny shoves that don’t move him in the slightest and finally, he steps to the side, revealing his group.

“I know you!” Sansa exclaims and before she can stop herself, she’s continuing on.

“You’re Renly, our teacher! And you’re Loras. I used to have a huge crush on you until I walked in on you two together.” 

There’s a reason Sansa’s kept that a secret for so long, she knows there is, but she really can’t remember why now when they make such a cute couple, and the exhilaration, being here with Sandor, showing off for Sandor, feels too good for her to care.

“You’re Brienne, who I thought might be Sandor’s girlfriend. And you’re Jaime Lannister, who…. Well, our families hate each other. And your sister tormented me.” 

That secret doesn’t feel as good to share, so Sansa stares down at her shoes and the motion makes her wobble a little. 

It’s Renly who catches her, steadying her as he says, “Nice job, Sansa, that would get in A if we were in class.”

“I’m gonna get an A anyway,” Sansa says, because it’s true. “My speech was the best. It was much better than Sandor’s.”

“Ouch, she got you there.” Someone says. Sansa thinks it’s Jaime, but there’s a lot of people around her and it’s hard to keep track of them all. 

“You thought I was with Sandor?” Brienne asks. She, at least, is easy to focus on, as the only girl, and nearly as tall as Sandor. 

“You two showed up together.” 

“Yeah, but you think I’d date him?” 

“Well, I think he’s a catch.” Which sets off enough round of laughter for the whole group. Sansa, smiles, pleased at amusing them. Her cheeks feel tingly. She presses her fingers to her face, not sure which is more surprising, how hot her skin is or how cold her fingers are.

“Is anyone else really warm?” Sansa asks.

“Alright, let's get you out of here, ok?”

Sandor has a hand on each shoulder and he leads her away from the crowd, the masses parting immediately from his bulk. Sansa recognizes plenty of her sister now, the Hardy twins talking to some guys from Gamma Alpha, Margaery looking over her shoulder at someone in the crowd and laughing, but they’re moving too quickly, and suddenly Sansa is at a picnic table, outside of the huddle. 

“Sit” Sandor orders, so Sansa does, plops right onto the wet wooden beam.

“We should get some drinks in your more often, get those truths rolling out your pretty little mouth.”

“I always tell the truth. I’m just polite.”

“Sure.”

“No! I was honest and polite with your friends tonight, wasn’t I?”

“If that’s what you wanna call it.”

There’s a hand at her back, which is weird, because she’s looking at Sandor, how can he be touching her?

“Harry!” She cries, jumping up from the bench and throwing her arms around him. He catches her, but they still stumble and struggle to stay upright.

There’s red on his cheeks and ears so she leans her face to his, rubbing their cheeks together and planting kisses wherever she can.

“Sansa,” he manages through the hair in his face, and that’s when Sansa realizes he’s pushing her away.

“Where have you been?” And maybe he wasn’t flushed from the cold, maybe he was angry. At Sansa? That’d be ridiculous.

“Looking for you! Right?” She looks to Sandor for validation, and he nods stiffly.

“Well, I was. And then I ran into Sandor and his friends and her brought me here since I was hot, only now I’m freezing.” At that, she snuggles into his arms, hoping burrowing into his chest might provide some warmth, but Harry’s jacket is frozen from the wind, and his arms, when they finally come up around her, are stiff. 

“How much did she drink?”

“You’re asking the wrong fucking person. Ask her if you want to know.”

“Let’s go,” Harry says, and Sansa barely manages to wave at Sandor, which is not returned, before Harry is tugging at her.

“Wait, where are we going?” Sansa whines, trying to pull her hand from his grasp. “I don’t want to leave.”

The fingers around her wrist tightened. “Sansa it’s late and you’re drunk. We need to go home.” 

Sansa looks around fruitlessly, Sandor is already gone, and Harry’s pulling her to the car.

Harry’s quiet in the car, which is just as good, as Sansa doesn’t want to admit it but the alcohol is really hitting her. The world drifts in and out, and she losses moments, coming in and out of sleep.

Barely, she remembers Harry fussing, Harry angry, but even as the moment is happening, whatever he’s saying is gone. His arms come around her when she stumbles on the stairs, and he helps her pull off her various layers once they get into the bedroom, so he can’t be too angry with her. And if he’s not angry at her… maybe he’ll be more inclined to help her with the desire that’s been stirring, low in her gut, since sometime at the bonfire.

Once Harry strips her down to underwear and bra, he sets her on the bed to pull some pajamas from the drawer. She hears him moving around in the dark, her Harry, her boyfriend, and the distance is just too far away.

“Harry, just come to bed,” Sansa moans. She’s got her bra off and her panties somewhere below her knees--she’d stopped caring once they were off her hips-- and figures Harry will finish the rest.

Harry appears at her side, a furrow in his brow and pajamas clutched in his fist. “Sansa, you’re drunk.” 

A whine escapes her throat. “When has that stopped us before?” 

She loses the moment again, and when she’s back, her hand is at Harry’s hips, trying to sneak under the waistband of his jeans.

“Not tonight.” Harry says, and he bats her hand away. 

“Please! I need you. I need… “ to be filled, she feels so empty, so bare, she needs… 

To sleep apparently. 

When Sansa wakes up the next morning, her first instinct is to close her eyes and burrow under the pillow. No one bothered to pull the curtains closed and now daylight spills into the room. There’s probably aspirin somewhere in the room, her phone too, but that would require leaving the bed. Harry is gone, of course, Sansa can always tell, so she moves onto the next order of business. 

She’s pretty sure they didn’t have sex the night before. The longing and begging gave way to dreams, and though she remembers pawing at Harry sometime in the night, she doesn’t think it gave way to anything more. For one thing, she’s dressed up again, despite remembering Harry undressing her when they got in. Also, a quick check to the crotch of her underwear finds the fabric dry, and when she bucks her hip up into her hand, there’s no ache or discomfort inside, so unless it was the driest, lightest sex they’ve ever had, there’s no way Harry was inside her last night. Was she really so far gone Harry wouldn’t have sex with her? It’s not even the drunkest she’s been. 

Well, Sansa decides, she’s sober now.

Harry’s apartment is one long hallway, she’d helped him pick it out last year. His room is all the way at the back and it gives her the opportunity to check Ben and Targon’s rooms as she passes, both empty. She can’t hear any commotion from the front of the apartment, meaning they’re most likely already tailgating for the game. That fact and the two aspirins help her feel bold and daring as she steps into the kitchen.

Harry’s facing away from the doorway, but he hears her enter and turns slightly, nodding without a look, before going back to his phone. 

“There’s eggs on the stove,” Harry tells her, in lieu of a greeting. Sansa hasn’t eaten since some peanut butter crackers before the bonfire, but there’s a hunger she needs filled first before she thinks about food.

“Good morning to you too.”

“How are you feeling?” Harry asks, still looking down.

“I’m fine. I didn’t get too bad last night.”

“Really? What do you remember?”

“Everything. Mostly, I remember you wouldn’t fuck me.”

That finally gets Harry to turn and look at her, a curse cut off when he sees her for good.

She’d stripped of her pajamas in the bedroom and cast off the robe once she made sure the apartment was really clear.

“Jesus Christ Sansa, I have roommates.” Harry cries, getting up to grab the robe when it becomes obvious Sansa’s not going to pick it up.

“I know,” Sansa huffs. Harry tries to get her into the blue terry cloth, but she refuses, crossing her arms over her chest. Harry ends up just holding the lump of fabric up to her.

“They’re loading the car. They’ll be back any minute.”

“Then let’s make this quick.” Sansa easily breaks out of his hold and sits on the table. They’ve never done it in the kitchen, and while she doesn’t like the idea of Ben or Targon walking in on them, Harry’s bedroom is only down the hall. They can scurry off if they hear either coming to the front door.

“No, Sansa. We’re leaving for the game any minute. Aren’t you supposed to be there too?” Harry asks. 

Sansa’s eyes dart to the clock on the stove. It’s barely even eleven. Even her sorority is lax when it comes to the actual day of the game. All the important events, the events that get them points for Homecoming Week, happened during the week. As long as the majority of PE was there for the game, tailgating was mostly optional. And that was PE, the rules and standards of Iota Pi were much more fluid, so Harry had no leg to stand on with that argument.

“Come on Harry, don’t you want to?” Sansa makes a show of pouting.

“Not right now, ok?” Harry finally has the decency to look a little guilty. “Maybe after the game.” 

Sansa wants to complain, but she can hear the footsteps coming up the steps of the house. She sighs in defeat and accepts the robe from Harry. She’s just tying the belt when the boys fall in from the front door. 

They both greet her without much notice, more excited for the dozens and dozens of beers they’ve loaded into Ben’s old hatchback. Harry pecks her dutifully on the cheek, and then they’re off.

Well, Sansa’s got a solution for that too.

\--- 

Like any other good late 90s kid, Sansa’s early sex education came from the internet. The books she and Jeyne found and giggled over at their middle school library had been titallatting with mentions of hardness or copulation, but ultimately lacking, the steamiest scenes ending in a fade to black as the couple reached the bedroom. Her mother’s romance novels were better, women’s bosoms heaved and their folds were parted, their slits glittering wet and men’s members throbbing, but in all the ambiguities and euphemisms, Sansa could not quite figure out what it all meant. 

Embarrassment and shame kept Sansa from asking the teachers and counselors at school who promised to be a safe space for questions on their blossoming bodies, and she certainly couldn’t ask her mom, even after Catelyn had once found her with a book, took if from Sansa’s hands and shut it firmly, with a remark that these types of books were in no way suitable for children, but if Sansa would want, Catelyn would answer any questions. Sansa would rather die then sit through her mother trying to explain what a quivering tumnescene was.

But Sansa still had questions. How did the sperm get from the penis? Was it involuntary, like a sneeze? Was there a difference between cumming and coming? And what did that even mean? She had a dictionary and encyclopedia at her desk, a nice set Grandma Stark got for her on her 8th birthday, but the technical definitions were just as vague. She knew an orgasm was the peak of sexual activity, but what did that mean? Her encyclopedia had illustrations, the weird, double stemmed system and the floppy hanging stick that look more like what she’d seen when she’d peaked at her brothers in the bath than the large, thick hardness all the heroines were always swooning over.

It took until the beginning of sixth grade for her to get her answers. Over the summer, Ned’s office got an upgrade and Sansa got his old computer in her bedroom. For her birthday in August, they’d installed internet. Sex was not her first search, not even her third or fourth, but one unremarkable afternoon, after reading about a tongue massaging a “swollen nub” in a book Jeyne had let her borrow, Sansa curiously typed in “orgasm” to her google search bar.

It was Robb who finally had to physically come to her bedroom to get her for dinner, after she’d been so enraptured with her learning she’d missed the dozen or so calls from her parents. 

At dinner, Sansa felt as if she were floating high above her family. They were children: Arya, Bran and Rickon for sure, just innocent little children who had no idea ll the knowledge they were missing and maybe even Robb, or her parents. Did they know about orgasms and doggy style and the prostate? Had they felt enlightenment? Had they ever… ___masturbated?___

But it all came crashing down, after a few blissful months of self-exploration, when the subject was brought up in religion amongst giggles and pubescent chagrin. Their teacher assuredly told them that the act of sex was a sin outside of marriage. But touching yourself wasn’t sex, there was no other person there and a girl’s orgasm wasn’t even necessary for procreation Sansa read, so she wasn’t needlessly spilling seed, right? Was masturbation a sexual act? Was she not a virgin anymore?

Even though asking someone in public demanded more courage than she currently had, if her virginity was at stake, she could face the shame, so instead of asking anonymously on the internet, she did the next best thing…

“Oh precious daughter, I am proud of your honesty,” the priest on the other side of the screen said after she’d admitted her sin. She couldn’t go to Father Chayle at school, he’d know her voice, so she spent the night at her grandparents and taken her bike over to the church on their side of town, while her grandmother was napping.

“Now, you’re young and your body is changing… To give into these urges unknowingly is forgivable my dear. God knows you are remorseful. However, these urges will come again and you must know this only the devil’s voice, trying to lure you into adultery.”

“Adultery?” Sansa gasped. Sinning was one thing, but cheating on her future spouse?

“Yes. Sex is a gift from God, only to be shared with your husband.”

And that had put an end to that. 

Sometime in high school, Sansa’d realized how silly the idea of cheating on her future spouse with herself was, and gave in every now and then, but she knew that guys preferred their girls as “pure” as possible. Then there had been Joffrey… and now, she has Harry to fill those “sinful” urges. It’s not often she turns to masturbation, but she still knows the techniques, has a bank of fantasies to cycle through.

In the shower, Sansa slides a hand between her thighs, a slow, full handed caress, before zeroing, two fingers to her clit. She closes her eyes, tries to pretend it’s Harry, touching her, rubbing her clit in slow circles.

His arm would come around her waist, pulling her back to his warm, wet body. Yes, she’d be in front, hot spray falling on her chest, her neck, all along her front, caressing her softer than his unyielding hands.

With the unoccupied hand, Sansa moves to her breast, pinching one nipple harshly. She could practically feel him behind her, coarse body hair softened and brushing against her smooth back. His rough hands at her breasts, his dick hard and hot, pressed tight against her ass and lower back. He’d rut against her as he got her off with a fast, hard pressure on her clit and a finger at her entrance, teasing before pressing in.

It does not take long for Sansa to shiver, to feel it begin, her walls contracting around the finger inside her, her hips moving of their own accord, rocking up and down, chasing release. She comes with the feel of scarred lips on the back of her neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience! Moving is rough, especially in the Louisiana heat, just making multiple trips all the way across the city because you only have a car to load. But I've finally somewhat got everything unpacked! Posting should be weekly-ish for the next few weeks!
> 
> A real life priest once told me that masturbation was a sin because it was committing adultery on your future spouse when I was 13/14. I'm not sure if that was just his view or the entire church's, as female masturbation was never brought up once in my nine years of Catholic school, various retreats, or three years of Catholicism, but I'm sure plenty think that. I know the Faith of the Seven isn't a perfect analogy to Catholicism, but I went with that as it fits pretty well and it's the religion I'm most familiar with. 
> 
> Harry's roommates are Ben Coldwater and Ser Targon the Halfwild. I picked them from the TWOW chapter, Ben because he talks to and dances with Sansa first and Targon because I liked his name. I've fudged everyone's ages, including Harry's as he's supposed to be about five years older than Sansa whereas here they're the same age, so assume the boys are 21/22 as well.


	7. Chapter 7

Sansa spends the drive to the football field trying to think about anything other than the fact she just masturbated about someone other than her boyfriend. And not a celebrity or fictional crush, but the very real, very present, new friend she’s been trying to tell herself she’s not crushing on. She’s not very successful.

When had her thoughts turned to Sandor? It had been Harry she wanted last night and this morning, Harry she’d almost had in the kitchen, and Harry who she’d imagined with her in the shower. She couldn’t pinpoint when she’d gone from imagining Harry’s body, the body she knows so well now, to Sandor’s. Some point before the end, she has to admit.

Sansa decides, as she pulls up to the house to park, this is not something she’s going to ask Mya and Myranda’s opinion on. 

The parking lot is full of cars-- Sansa has a designated spot as president-- and empty of girls. Sansa checks her phone, 13 missed calls. Even for something as unstructured as tailgating, apparently the sorority can’t run without its president. Sansa sighs.

“Oh my god Sansa, where have you been?” Blythe Corbray asks once Sansa’s walked over from the house to the football field. Some unlucky sophomores have to wake up early every year to get the spot under the closest oak tree to the stadium’s entrance. “We thought you died.”

“The new members are almost here.” Megga gripes, standing at the front of a group of Roses. 

Aside from creating space from Sandor, Sansa also had to deal with the fallout of her hotseat revelation during the week. All of Margaery’s closest friends had been sending her nasty glares all week, while Margaery herself was mostly absent from the week’s events. And the sisters who hadn’t picked clear sides gave Sansa looks as well, aprising, curious stares as if Sansa might announce some other scandalous secret at any time. It made being with her sisters even more exhausting than usual. 

Even Petyr hadn’t been very happy about what she’d said. He’d kept his expression neutral while she detailed the events of the retreat and hotseat, at work Monday afternoon, but she knew him long enough to tell the minute signs of displeasure. 

“Do you think that was wise?” Petyr asked her. 

“Probably not, but I didn’t want to hide it anymore.” Sansa answered. 

“You weren’t hiding anything. When you think of it that way, of course it’s going to cause stress, sweetling” Petyr softly admonished, reaching across his desk to put a hand over hers. “I know you’re not fond of Margaery, but now you’ve fractured your sorority’s loyalty, right before voting for Homecoming court. Do you remember, all the work we did last year?”

Last year, Sansa hadn’t been in nearly as a prodigious spot. Cersei was gone, thank God, asked to leave over the summer when the upcoming court case was made public. Joffrey’d already been expelled, as well as Meryn Trant and Boros Blount, and the rest of his ilk in the Alphas were laying low and looking to avoid trouble. Sansa had made herself a steady clique with Mya and Myranda within the sorority, and outside of it, her relationship with Harry and the Iota Pis was strong. 

But still, it had been less than a year ago that she’d been ousted as Vice President, kicked out of her room in the house, and dumped by Joffrey. Instead of finishing her sophomore year on the executive board, poised to take on presidency, she’d had to take a smaller position on the programming board. And as for president, that title had almost gone to Margaery. It was only the conveniently timed leak of some questionable photos of her that kept her from being elected. Petyr had tried to pull the strings to get one of “his” girls elected, but with Cersei as the main advisor he’d had no luck, and only just barely managed to get Emmaline Swyft, someone neutral to the open divide between Margaery and Sansa’s groups. 

Junior year was shaping up better, especially once the trial started, but Sansa and Petyr still had their work cut out for them to get back to where she’d been before it all started.

For Phi Epsilon’s homecoming queen bid, Meredyth Crane nominated Margaery, like Petyr said she would, and Myranda nominated Sansa, and no other girl braved raising her hand. The vote was done by anonymous slips, and the few quiet minutes while the votes were cast and counted were some of the longest to Sansa. She didn’t even need to win Homecoming Queen, but if she could beat Margaery here, the sorority would be hers, Petyr told her. 

And once she won her sorority’s vote, once she’d won the school’s vote and stood on the football field before all her classmates, alumni, her parents even, who’d flown down just for this, and been announced queen she’d been… happy, certainly, and surprised and a bit hollow. All the networking and ass kissing, getting to every PE event early and leaving last, winning over as many Iota Pis as possible, all of that for an honorary position? It had to be the shock she told herself. 

This year, a bitter rivalry between most the juniors and sophomores left Alla, sweet, naive Alla, the underdog, with the most votes. An unprecedented win that Petyr had warned her about, though she’d done little to sway anyone’s opinion in the weeks leading up to the vote. But that had been a week before the retreat, now there’s a good chance Alla wouldn’t even get all of her sorority’s vote. 

“Do you really want to see one of your sisters not even make it as runner up?” Petyr asked Sansa. Even with all the internal division, you voted for your sister, unless something truly egregious had happened. And though Sansa hadn’t named any other names, gossip spread like wildfire after hotseat, Margaery main gang, Ella, Alla, and Elinor, named as co-conspirators to the cheating scandal. It didn’t help that Alyn and Elinor had broken up right around that time, or Megga’s general abrasiveness.

“I’ll make sure she’s at least a runner-up” Sansa said. 

After meeting with Petyr, Sansa texted the senior group text as casually as she could, reminding them to vote loyally to the chapter, knowing it would trickle down to their littles and littles’ littles.Then she’d stopped by the Iota Pi table the next day, cutting into class time to promise favors she knew she’d only bestow on Harry if they voted for Alla … not that Harry’d cashed them in. But all this she had to do covertly, less the Rose family think she was patronizing them.

Megga had been, predictably, the biggest thorn in her side since.

.”We don’t even have the letters up,” Megga is still complaining about Sansa’s tardiness. “That’s not--”

“Here,” Sansa says, surprising even herself by tossing her car keys to Megga. “They’re in my back seat.”

After an incredulous look, Megga finally takes off, a few juniors in two. The rest of her sisters return to their previous activities.

“Rough night?” Mya asks once Sansa joins her and Myranda at the STU tent. Myranda’s worked her way through the eligible men of Iota Pi and now her current conquest is some mustached senior in Sigma. Plus, hanging out at the boys’ tents is always funner than the PE one. With their letters displayed, the girls weren’t allowed to have any alcohol present, nor even drink any at all while tailgating, but usually that rule is only enforced around their tent and Sansa’s not in the mood for policing anyone today.

“No.”

Mya looks at her shrewdly. Sansa hadn’t seen Mya or Myranda at the bonfire last night, but perhaps one of the had seen her. 

“You sure?” Mya asks. “You were pretty sharp with Megga.”

“I’m president. I’m about time I exercised my executive power.”

Sansa stays at the STU tent most of the day, with the letters out of her car there really isn’t any reason the girls would need her back at PE. The Iota Pi tent is just a few over, so she stops to say hi to Harry, who’s more interested in beer pong than talking with her. 

An hour or so before the game, Sansa is hungry and needs something more substantial than corn chips from the Sigmas, and from the icy glares she’s been getting from the girls at the PE tent, Sansa’s wary to head that way. 

“Anyone need anything from concessions?” she asks. 

Mya asks for a hot dog, while Myranda giggly brushes her off. A water for her then. Maybe a hot dog too, to soak up all the vodka tonics. 

Sansa’s almost to the line when she realizes Brienne is standing there in the waiting area. She almost turns to flee, but Brienne’s already caught sight of her and waved her over and Sansa can’t be so rude as to pretend she hasn’t seen.

“Hey Sansa!”

“I’m sorry about last night,” Sansa blurts out before Brienne can say anything else. “ I was so - “

“It’s fine! You were cute actually.” Brienne says with a shake of her head. 

Sansa ducks her head to avoid meeting Brienne’s gaze. Brienne could never be considered beguiling, her face is too open for that with her bright blue eyes and earnest expression, but Sansa still has trouble believing she hadn’t made a complete ass of herself the night before. “I usually don’t drink that much.”

“Relax . Everybody has been drunk and said things they regretted. I’d be lucky if that was the worst thing I’d ever done drunk.”

Sansa shrugs a little, slightly mollified.

They talk for a few more minutes, even after Brienne comes back from the pick up window, her tray laden with standard concession fare. Brienne finally enlightens Sansa as to how she knows Sandor and what they do together at the gym-- through Jaime and kickboxing-- while Sansa tells her about their class together with Renly, surprised to learn that he and Brienne are childhood friends. 

“You’re brave. I’m still terrified of public speaking,” Brienne says, after Sansa’s ordered her food.

“You’re brave too,” Sansa says, having trouble imagining Brienne scared of anything,“to hang out with that group.”

“Oh they’re not so bad. It’s a bit of a sausage fest though. You should come out with us next time.” 

Sansa manages a small smile. It would interesting company, different than her group of friends now. And being with Sandor with other people around certainly might help that situation.

“Maybe,” she demures.

“We’ll be up in the alumni section once the game starts if you want to stop by.”

Sansa’s saved from answering when her order comes up to the window. She returns to Brienne and they say their goodbyes, Brienne reminding her again she’s welcome to hang out. 

Once the seating starts in the stadium, Sansa tries valiantly not to look at the alumni section, but gives in after a few minutes. They’re seated only a few sections over to the right, and one down. She picks out Sandor almost immediately, especially with Brienne next to him. They’re two tall heads above the crowd, Brienne with her blonde bob, and Sandor’s dark hair and scowl Sansa can see from here. He’s listening to something Jaime’s saying, nodding along while his eyes scan the crowd, almost looking right at her. She pulls her gaze to the field quickly, praying he didn’t catch her looking.

For the rest of the night, Sansa makes sure to focus on the game, looking to the right side of the stadium as sparingly as possible, even when talking to Mya who’s sitting to her right. She doesn’t go visit them like Brienne told her to, but neither does Brienne, or Sandor, come to visit her.

\---

The next night, the night before Arya arrives, the temperature dips well below freezing and with the precipitation rate, everyone from her classmates to the weatherman on TV-12, is talking about the possibility of snow Monday morning. In Winterfell they’ve already had a few inches, nothing that stays on the ground for a very long time, but more than what’s usual for October. It’s still nothing like the winter when Sansa was 12 and they seemed to be snowed in from the beginning of fall until nearly June. Robb swore he’d seen snow reach his bedroom window early one morning, but by the time Sansa woke up it was at the normal level, just below the second story of the house, so she didn’t believe that. Still, they didn’t see the sun for legitimately two months, Sansa tracked.

All day Sansa waits for the snow fall, or at least some flurries, but though the sky is dark with laden clouds, there is no snow. Roth is so charming in the snow, she’d love to show her sister that version.

Sansa contemplates asking Harry to ride with her. It’s an hour and a half ride to Richmond with no traffic, and they could use the time to talk, where Harry couldn’t ignore her or walk away.

Things have been strained since Friday night. Sansa hoped they would talk after the game, but he drank even more than she had the night before, putting down beer after beer, all the while taking swigs of whatever was in his flask. He was barely coherent, barely conscious even, his heavy weight nearly dragged her down on the walk up to the apartment. He couldn't even make it to the toilet to vomit, though thankfully it’s not on her. Not so thankfully, it’s in the hallway, right in front of the neighbor's door. Once Harry is deposited in bed, fully clothes as there’s no getting him to cooperate, she goes back to clean it all up. 

Once Harry regains consciousness for longer than just the occasional trip to the bathroom or to moan for more painkillers, it is nearly two in the afternoon Sunday. Harry’s sullen and grumpy, splayed out on the couch half-heartedly watching a race and moaning to Ben about his hangover. 

“Maybe we could do something together this week, babe.” Sansa mentions lightly as she’s heading back to her apartment.

“Isn’t your sister coming in this week?” Harry gripes back.

No, Sansa won’t subject Arya to an hour and a half of that. Sansa’s not even sure Harry and Arya will spend anytime together while she’s visiting. Arya had met him when the rest of the family had, when they’d visited for Robb’s graduation, the May before last. Arya hadn’t seemed to dislike him then, but Sansa knows that doesn’t mean anything.

Monday night Sansa has an executive board meeting before she can leave to pick up Arya and it passes slowly. She watches the clock hands inch forward as they argue about Sleep in a Box of all things.

“Ladies, it’s a night where we all sleep in cardboard boxes to simulate being homeless, I don’t think we need to worry about our wardrobe choices.” Sansa interjects once the fighting’s gone on for what feels like days.

“I’m just saying we’ll look professional in khakis or slacks. We can take them off once we go to sleep.” Ariel Umber says.

“And I think we should be unique and stick out,” Megga argues. Her plan had been for norts, knee high socks, and tutus, color-coordinated for each group the chapter would be split into for the night.

“I don’t think - “ Adaline Wendwater, head of the programming board starts, but she’s interrupted.

“Well, I’m the philanthropy chair,” Megga sneers, and if she were any younger, Sansa thinks she’d punctuate that statement by sticking her tongue out at them. The philanthropy chair is not even an EB position, but Adaline hadn’t had any success trying to debate the issue in the programming board meetings.

“This is a waste of time.” Sansa says. The executive board had promised to hear Megga out on her issue, but they never said she’d have the final word. “All those in favor of our normal dress code?” 

At eight, Sansa has to leave. She’ll be late getting to D.C., but hopefully Arya will be delayed by baggage claim. As it is, Sansa merging onto the access road when her phone trills.

“Arya, I’m almost there. Google maps says I’m only…” the screen shows her ETA at seventeen minutes from now, “like five minutes away.”

“Five minutes?” Arya asks, twenty minutes later, sitting on her ratty black suitcase in the departures lane, a lone figure amongst security guards and taxis.

“Sorry, traffic.” Sansa says. She pops the trunk and goes around to help Arya, but her sister has it on her own, lifting her unwieldy luggage and depositing it into the back with a solid thunk.

In the car, Sansa tries to engage, how was your flight, how are things at home, but Arya’s in a mood. She answers Sansa in short, clipped answers and her eyes stay on the road, blank, reflecting street lights and passing cars. It’s far past the commuter rush, but there are still enough cars on the road for some light, other companions in the dark.

“Want to stop in DC?”

“What for?”

“We’re passing by. We could drive past Lincoln Monument, the white house… I know it’s late, but…”

Arya doesn’t respond. Her special weapon, their mother would say bitterly, using her silence to cut as deep as any dismissal.

“Do you want some food at least?” Sansa doesn’t know why she keeps trying. “We could stop somewhere they don’t have in Montana. Chik-fil-a is so good.”

“I’m not hungry.”

The radio goes on after that, Sansa not even trying to hide her annoyance. Between Harry and her sister, she’s dreading this upcoming week. Maybe she’ll hole up in her room to avoid both.

Once they get back, Sansa points to the sofa bed. She’d pulled it out after class, made it up with her nice sheets and all, naively hoping that Arya would be appreciative, that they’d have been talking and laughing all the way home that they’d keep at it once they got there. Now, Sansa wishes she would have kept the damn thing closed, tossed a blanket Arya’s way and let her figure it out or not.

In fact, Sansa wishes she would have just let Arya do what she wanted to in the first place and stay somewhere else. This is how it was always going to go, this is how things always went with her and Arya. Arya would defrost, just a little bit, make Sansa think her sister didn’t hate her after all, and then Sansa would push her too far, would ask a seemingly innocent question or say something that was somehow offensive, and immediately Arya’s walls would be back up. 

It’s only for the week, Sansa reminds herself. She’ll be bringing Arya back to the airport Saturday morning.

“Bathroom’s the first door on the left. I’m going to breakfast tomorrow at eight if you want to come. Goodnight.”

Arya raises her hand in a lazy salute.

\---

It shouldn’t come as a surprise but after shutting her door and dropping face down on the bed, Sansa is painfully, unmistakably awake. Whether it’s from the late night drive or Arya’s behavior or just an unrelated bout of insomnia, Sansa not sure. In denial, she goes through her nightly routine --her face regimine and hair care-- and at least a fourth of tub of her shea and almond butter lotion and changes into comfortable pajamas, trying to fool her mind into thinking it’s just another night. Properly under the covers this time, she curls up in bed at 12:17 and wills herself not to look at the clock or think about anything, Arya, Harry, Sandor, her sorority, anything for fifteen minutes. When she finally caves and peaks, sure it must have been at least 10-15 minutes, the clock reads 12:22.

With Arya in the living room with the television, Sansa’s options for entertainment are limited. Of course, had it been reversed, Arya would have no problem watching TV while Sansa tried to sleep. There are many times over their adolescent and teen years that Sansa can recall laying in bed, kept awake by Arya’s loud music or loud friends or both. But with Arya’s mood as it is, Sansa doesn’t want to risk agitating her even further.

There’s not even homework to keep Sansa up, unless she wants to practice more for her informative speech, but as it’s already mostly outlined, the work she needs to put in is in actually giving the speech. 

Out of options, Sansa picks up the fourth _Outlander_ that’d been on her nightstand since the beginning of the semester. It’s not as if she doesn’t like to read, she’s been slowly and steadily working on the series since Beth showed her the first season of the show last summer, but reading doesn’t give her the same brain numbing effect as watching _Vampire Diaries_ for the third time. As it is, Sansa only gets four pages in before her thoughts drift off and she finds herself reading the same passage multiple times. 

However, Jamie and Clairegives her an idea. After double checking the door’s locked -- you have one sibling walk in on you with your hands under the covers and you’ll learn your lesson quickly -- Sansa sets down _Drums of Autumn_ to pick up the first, original _Outlander_ book. As much as Sansa’s loved the books since, there’s something about that first book, their first few times together. She’s read those passages in the first book so many times it’s almost ingrained in her head. She props the book up on the pillow next to her, using her phone to keep it open, freeing her hands to roam slowly over her clothed body.

Sansa focuses on reading while her hands work on her body, one hand dipping into her pajama bottoms. She doesn’t go straight for her clit, but instead lightly strokes up and down, from her clit to her perineum, feather light touches that have her wanting more. She tries not to let her mind wander, to focus on the words that always have her squirming and clenching her thighs, but eventually she starts to picture Harry, their wedding. 

Her wedding had been the center of most of her fantasies and even now, the thought is still enough to fill Sansa’s stomach with butterflies. The flowers and lace, the music, all her family and friends there to celebrate her love with Harry. She pictures his face, that soft blonde hair swept up, his blue eyes shining with love and joy. He’d look at her with such awe as she walked down the aisle, as they shared their first dance, as he pulled her aside to have a stolen moment in some tucked away side room, unable to keep his hands from her for a second longer. 

She focuses in on her clit now, stroking up and down quickly, while she imagines Harry kneeling before, parting her legs before disappearing under the cool silk of her gown. He’d lavish her with his tongue, wet and messy and hot, while she’d fight to keep her hands from ruining his dress. She’d buck her hips to meet his mouth, his skillful tongue. 

Sansa stills the two fingers that’d been rubbing furiously at her clit. Anymore, and she might give herself brush burn. On pure, physical simulation it feels nice, if not a little uncomfortable with how dry she is, and mentally she’s feels more like she’s reviewing homework or studying for how bored she is. No more wedding fantasies then, time to switch topics. She tries, imagining Harry as a repairman who she pays in sexual favors, as her dominant boss, even as a priest she seduces, but nothing’s working. Halfway through the secretary-boss fantasy, she realized she’d been more focused on the interior design of their offices than she’d been on her boss’s “lesson” to the point her fingers had stilled of their own accord.

What had been her favorite fantasy as a preteen? Sansa lets all those adolescent yearnings wash over her. She’d been insecure and unsure, so fascinated by sex but also so scared. Already her inner fantasy world was immense and complex, dozens of scenarios of her and her “one true love”, that included a culmination, but never anything Sansa knew how to articulate. Adding in sex had been exhilarating and terrifying, while also inevitable.

Sansa remembers now, the fantasy she’d loved the most. She’d been a princess, beautiful and desired and pious. The whole realm wanted her, so many suitors asking for her hand, but it had been a terrible prince, cruel and ugly with more power, who’d taken her for his own. He’d brought her back to his lands and kept her high in a tower until the marriage. There was a knight who loved her but could never marry her due to his status, but that hadn’t stopped his chaste vows to protect her life with his. One night, a foreign enemy or a dragon, it had never mattered, attacked the city, laying ruin to all of the prince’s brilliant lands. Stuck in her tower, Sansa could only watch the desolation. Just as she would give up hope, her knight would break through the door and rescue her.

In Sansa’s young fantasy, her knight would return her home, where her father would be so happy at her safe return, he’d allow them to marry and her knight would lay her down on their rose covered marital bed and tenderly make love to her, but now Sansa imagines he takes that night, surrounded by destruction and desperation. 

Sansa kneels on her bed, grabbing her pillow--unconcerned that _Outlander_ falls to the bed--and setting it between her legs. Harry doesn’t fit the image of her bold knight, so she lets him be some anonymous male figure: tall, strong, dark, wild eyes and long hair.

It wouldn’t be like those sweet, careful consumations of her girlhood. There’s no time for tender carsesses where there’s carnage and death in the air; it’s all hard, frenzied touch. She’d sink down on his cock, ignoring the burn and stretch for how much she needs him inside her. His hands would hold her hard, setting a punishing rhythm. Sansa grips her own hips roughly in imitation as she rocks and grinds on the pillow. Each drag of her clit against the fabric of her panties sets her nerves alight, like she’s burning too, hotter than the fire outside. She slides one hand down the front of her panties, to give herself even more to pressure, more friction.

Sansa’s thighs tighten around the pillow and her thrusts grow harder. There’s a bead of sweat at her temple and she can imagine his tongue, tracing its descent until he gets to her mouth and captures her lips in a crushing kiss. Her eyes met his dark grey ones and she comes.

Once Sansa’s able to move, she loosens her legs and lays back on her bed, next to the face down copy of _Outlander_. Her skin tingles, and she’s sweating underneath her pajamas. Eventually she’ll get up and change into something clean and clear off her bed, but for now she lies there, enjoying the cool down. 

Her phone dings and her heart stops for just a minute as she reaches out for it, then falls once she sees its Harry. Who else is she expecting? It’s not like it’s Sandor’s texted her in the middle of the night before, nor would it be a good thing for that distance she’s trying to build. The second text ding goes off, and after a moment, she tosses her phone down on the bedside table. Whatever Harry wants, she feels too good right now to deal with it. She’s content to drift off, imagining riding off into the sunset with her knight, and leave the problems of the real world for tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A first (and hopefully last) for this chapter, Sandor doesn't really appear in it! Unless you count Sansa _not_ watching him at the homecoming game and definitely _not_ fantasizing about him later.  
> Also, Sansa would definitely find a romanticized version of the BoBW scene hot, she's already romanticized it in the books.  
> And lastly, I'm not gonna add a tag for every single sexual situation in the fic, but I will for situations/kinks/tropes that are pretty prominent so, in a few chapters you might see some interesting things start to get added.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're at the point now where I have only outlines and some scenes written per chapter, so it will be longer between updates, but I don't want three weeks to be the norm! Life had to get in the way during this one, with the fourth of July and then a hurricane hitting the next week, but for the chapters to come, I'm trying for a week to a week and a half between updates.

The next morning, Sansa blinks awake a minute before her alarm goes off. The seconds tick by on the clock on her nightstand, while Sansa watches in a sleepy daze. Even MisterWives booming out from the speakers once the clock hits 7:00 AM can’t quite rouse Sansa from her peaceful, half-awake state. She hits snooze for Arya’s sake, and rolls over towards her window, content to watch the morning roll out until her alarm rings again,

Reality comes back in little increments-- that unread text from Harry, email and facebook notifications on her phone, her open planner sitting on top of a stack of binders of schoolwork-- but it’s not until she steps out of her bedroom does it hit, completely and abruptly, as if it had been poised in a bucket above her door.

Arya’s clothes and toiletries are strewn all over Sansa’s living room as if her luggage had exploded. Sansa’s genuinely impressed with how much she managed to fit inside one suitcase. There’s even gym equipment, and unless Sansa’s apartment was broken into by a health-conscious burglar who left them gifts, Arya found it necessary to haul boxing gloves and kettle bells all the way to King’s Landing. 

It’s not just the decor change, Sansa really doesn’t care about Arya’s mess as long as she takes it with her, but the fact that her sister is here at all. Sansa had nearly forgotten that during her calm, slow time in bed. Whatever peace or resolution Sansa thought they’d found with that phone call Friday must have been a momentary blip. Arya’s back to hating her and Sansa’s back to… trying to deal with it. That doesn’t mean Sansa has to be the pushover like always.

Sansa is loud in the bathroom as she gets ready. Her iphone is on full volume as she listens to “Happy Morning!” playlist in the shower -- and then at half once the water is off, Sansa can’t be _that_ mean-- and she makes no attempt to be quiet while she does her hair and makeup. 

There’s only wisps of brown hair peeking out from the blankets once Sansa enters the living room one last time, Arya either that soundly asleep or defiantly hiding under the covers. Sansa sighs and leaves, letting the door slam as she goes.

\---

“What’s got you bent out of shape little bird?” 

With her headache of a weekend, Sansa almost skipped her classes and headed straight to Harry’s after leaving her apartment, but she’d done enough of that her sophomore year at the height of the PE/Joffrey drama and the D she received in statistics still haunts her cumulative GPA. On its own, Renly’s class is a taxing one, he expects _a lot_ of participation, but to add in having to see Sandor? After last night?

Last week, at least Sansa had the legit excuse of Homecoming Week dominating all her free time, now that things are back to normal, should she still try to create space? What was the point if after a week of minimal contact, she couldn’t get him out of her head, to the point she’d fantasized about him? Twice? The goal of that exercise was to make sure their relationship stayed appropriate, what was appropriate about imagining the look on Sandor’s face as she sunk down onto his cock? 

Sansa didn’t have an answer to that and only the constant reminder of what it would do to her grade if she simply never returned to Public Speaking 101 got her through the classroom door this morning. Immediately a flush crept up her cheeks at the sight of Sandor at his desk, his harsh profile as he faced left, talking to Daenerys over Sansa’s empty seat. But she hadn’t made it this far in Phi Epsilon, made it this far in the Roth social circle, without learning to restrain her thoughts or at the very least work around them. She took a deep breath, steeled herself and walked into the classroom. 

By the time she got to her desk, she was cool, collected, offering both Sandor and Daenerys a casual “hello” and even holding eye contact with Sandor for the appropriate amount of time without blushing or looking away too early. Class had gone on like normal, so normal that once they broke up into pairs Sansa had been relieved to find herself laughing along like any of their other class time conversations when Sandor ignored Renly’s instructions to read their assigned pieces -- theirs was two pages of the iPhone 7 terms and services-- aloud dynamically in favor of ribbing on Sansa’s drunken confessions Friday night. And if Sansa caught herself staring for too long, at his lips as he spoke or at the way the brown knitting of his sweater stretched across the muscle of his bicep… well, she was only human.

Now they’re at lunch together because when Sandor had asked if she was “still too busy” for eating together, she’d told him no, just to wipe the smug look from his face. Without the classroom setting though, Sansa’s had no constant to focus on and as they sat in the cafeteria, all the stress of her current predicaments had begun to creep back in. 

Sansa pushes around her chicken tetrazzini, already mashed beyond cognition as she thinks of how to answer that question. Or, more appropriately, which situation to answer with.

“I’m can’t stop fantasizing about you,” is out of the question. All her scattered, quickly squashed daydreams in class aside, it had only happened twice really. And if Sansa could just get laid, get it out of her system, then it’d probably go away.

Which brings up her second problem. 

She’d finally gotten to that text from Harry, a continuation of their conversation about the dinner at Robb’s tonight. Harry and Robb’s relationship was fine; they could talk fraternity stuff or politics, but she knew neither were each other’s favorite person. Sansa had tried to give Harry an out with Arya being there but he was insistent to come, though still managed to act put out over it.

 _I guess I’m driving then_ , she’d read this morning while waiting for business ethics to start.

 _Thanks, that would be great!_ She’d answered, not in the mood to play into his bullshit.

So no, “my boyfriend hasn’t slept with me for a few days and I’m beginning to think he’s upset with me,” wouldn’t fly either.

Which only left Arya, and Sansa had heard “you need to let it go” so many times from so many different people. Bringing up the tension between her and Arya always made her feel immature or whiny, but she wouldn’t lie or try to deflect, not to Sandor.

Finally she sighs and looks up from her food to Sandor, who’s waiting with a furrowed brow and hard look in his eyes.

“It’s not really a big deal but… my sister’s in town.”

That catches Sandor off guard, the tense line of his lip going slack in surprise, his hand still lifted midway to his mouth with his next bite of flatbread.

“Were you expecting something else?”

Sandor shakes his head, shoving his food into his mouth hastily and taking a long swill of water before he replies.

“I just didn’t think you two were close,” Sandor answers.

“We’re not. She’s not here to visit me or anything.”

“Then why is she here?”

“To make my life harder, I guess,” Sansa snorts. “I don’t think she even likes me.”

She doesn’t mean to say that, at least not so casually, not as a joke, but it feels right anyway. It’s been a sneaking suspicion Sansa’s worried over the past few years, but never wanted to say aloud in fear of being correct.

“You know, it’s impossible to be liked by everyone. Odds are someone out there has to dislike you,” Sandor says almost soft. 

Sansa runs a hand through her hair while she mulls it over, watching her fingers pull at tangles from wearing it down on a blustery day like this; she hadn’t even grabbed a knit cap on her way out of the apartment this morning. She’s expecting a derisive comment or accusation of fishing for compliments, but Sandor just waits patiently after that.

Cautiously, Sansa continues. “I always thought she hated me or I’d done something to make her angry or… I wanted there to be a reason to it. I know it’s probably stupid, but I thought if she hated me then maybe I still had a way to fix it. But instead there’s just something so inherently unlikable about me that makes Arya feel justified in treating me without any care or consideration.”

“Fuck her.”

Sansa nearly chokes on her own water as she snorts out a shocked laugh.

“Sandor!” She scolds once she’s recovered. “She’s my sister.”

“If she’s gonna be a little cunt to you then fuck her. Blood doesn’t have to mean anything. My own brother…” Sandor trails off, staring off into the distance of the cafeteria over Sansa’s shoulder, without really looking at anything.

His own brother held his face down in the fireplace over a _toy_. God she’s such an idiot. It’s not as if she’s forgotten Sandor’s scars, not when she sees him so often, sees the result of Gregor’s cruelty in every crinkle of dead skin, every discolored bit of flesh, but his scars are so integral and simultaneously irrelevant to her view of Sandor, so much so that she rarely focuses on the harsh truth of their origin.

“Sandor, I’m so sorry. Here I am talking about Arya being bitchy to me, when your own brother was … a monster.”

“He was,” Sandor agrees and Sansa’s glad he doesn’t ask her how she knows anything about his brother. Telling him might alleviate some of the guilt she feels over knowing this secret, but Sandor already has to bear the reminder every day, it’s his right to share the story when and however he wants. 

“But just because your sister’s not a sadist like my brother, doesn’t you can’t feel upset.”

“No, it’s so stupid. I’m -”

“You’re not stupid. Hating someone who doesn’t spare you an ounce of thought is hard stuff… I wanted there to be a reason too.” 

“Fuck him.”

Sandor’s face is blank and Sansa’s worried she’d overstepped, preparing apologies in her head, but it’s not long before he laughs softly.

“That’s not very nice of you, little bird,” he says, his disapproval unconvincing even as he attempts to frown at her. 

“You said it first,” Sansa points out.

“I’m a bastard that curses every other word. You on the other hand…”

“Me? I’m not some pearl clutching grandma. I am in college.”

“Right, I forgot they didn’t let you in unless you dropped some f bombs first.”

Sansa refuses to dignify his response, she simply rolls her eyes and shakes her head slightly. 

“I’m sorry about your brother. You shouldn’t have had to grow up in a household like that.”

“Ah… Luck of the draw I guess. At least you had a few more siblings to even it out. They can’t all be little shits, right?”

“Well, you haven’t met Rickon,” and Sansa lets the whole fantasy of Sandor and Rickon meeting play out in her head--Riickon being intrigued rather than intimidated by Sandor’s scars or long hair or harsh eyes, the two rough housing, Sandor hoisting Rickon up over his shoulder, little fists and feet beating at his back efficiently as he bellowed to be let down--before she realizes what she’s doing. 

She mutters a brisk “seconds” to Sandor before standing up abruptly and all but running to the hot food line, hoping Sandor hadn’t seen the blush on her cheeks. 

Fantasizing over Sandor to get off is one thing, a complicated and perhaps shameless thing, but fantasizing domestic scenes? Maybe she needs to reinstate the getting space objective. 

Sansa lets the lunch buffet distract her, worrying over whether to attempt chicken tetrazzini a second time or to get the vegetarian option. A blonde girl at her right proves an even better distraction when Sansa finally recognizes her as one of the new recruits and they have a ten minute discussion once they get their food. It’s the most enthusiastic Sansa’s been about their fall semester social since freshman year. Sansa briefly contemplates inviting the new member, Krista Farring Sansa learns, back to sit with them before shoving that thought down. 

Sansa is twenty-two years old, she’s had crushes before, she should be able to keep her cool around one without constantly looking for distractions. She’s a Stark for Christ’s sake; repressing her feelings is in her DNA.

Invigorated she heads back to the table, carrying them in a conversation about all the drama from last week’s homecoming events. Sandor stabs at his apple pie more than he contributes, but he grumbles responses at all the appropriate parts, so Sansa leaves him, and whatever is on his mind, be.

“What did you think of Renly’s suggestion at the end of class?” She asks him as they leave the cafeteria.

With informational speeches only two weeks away, Renly heavily implied they’d do better and get better grades if they practiced in front of an audience as homework. Sansa doubts Renly will really be able to tell if they didn’t and anyway, she can’t picture Sandor willingly agree to giving his speech, not even in front of his friends and certainly not in front of hers.

“I thought we weren’t doing any practices,” 

“That was just last week,” Sansa says, trying to course correct. “But if you want to-”

“I don’t.”

“Are you sure?”

Sandor lips twitches, and this at least Sansa can handle, even if it’s been weeks since that last time he went all closed up and sour, but instead of an ugly comment Sandor just shakes his head. When he does answer, his tone is tired.

“Fuck it, I got a good enough grade on my last speech anyway, without any of those extra practices you had us doing. You go back to your blue birds, I’ll be fine.”

Sansa imagines the rest of the semester, no more outside practices, no more lunches, talking just barely in class. It’s what she wanted when she first cancelled practices with him. It would be good for them, it would be _appropriate,_ but not like this, not with Sandor angry or upset or… It’s only been a week of not talking, Sansa never realized how intuned she’d become to Sandor before, only now that it’s gone and she’s unsure what she did or how to fix it.

“I’m not too busy for this; I just thought you wouldn’t be into it.”

“I’m not ‘into it’.” Sandor spits out.

“You deserve more than ‘good enough’ grades. Hell, I deserve better than good enough,” Sansa tries. 

Her phone rings, the cheery default ringtone jarring and she glances down at her purse on instinct without meaning, without wanting to, before whipping her gaze back to Sandor. He’s watching her, smug at being proven right.

“You have a lot more to worry about than me.”

Sansa lets her the ringtone play out, the rest of the twenty seconds, while never taking her eyes from Sandor. “I want to do the practice.”

That at least moves Sandor; his lips twitch again before he rubs at the unburnt side of his jaw 

“You’re late for work,” he says finally.

Sansa nods, hoping she’s not wrong in taking that as the closest she’ll get to an agreement. “I’ll text you the details, ok?”

Sandor nods one curt, short dip of his head before turning over his shoulder and walking out of the union.

Once he’s finally out of sight, Sansa curses under her breath and goes for phone, now ringing for the third time. She barely holds in a scream when she sees the caller ID. For a moment, she pictures tossing her phone against the wall, watching the screen fracture and split into shards, and with it, every text from some committee head with last minute changes to events, every email from advisors fussing about a sophomore’s instagram pic or a mistake in paperwork, all the obligations, all the bullshit.

“Hello Arya.”

“What are you doing? I texted and called like 5 times.”

“I’m at work, Arya.” Well, she’s on her way to the office, but it's close enough to the truth she doesn’t feel bad at the white lie. “I told you my schedule last night.”

“Sorry, I forgot. What time will you be off?”

“4:30.”

Sansa enters the mostly empty office, waving hi to Edric at one of the computer stations, before closing herself in the conference room. She doesn’t even turn on the lights before sinking into one of the plush rolling chairs.

“That’s so long,” Arya whines. “I’m starving.”

“Well, there’s lots of frozen food in the fridge,” Sansa says without thinking. “I went to the store Sunday and got - “

“Wow, I’m sorry housing me is such a hardship you had to go _grocery_ shopping.” Arya sneers, not content to stop there however as she continues on raking Sansa over the coals.

Curling his fingers into tights fists, Sansa inhales and exhales deeply before unfurling her fingers and hopefully a little bit of the tension.

“Arya,” she says firmly to stop her sister’s rant. “What do you want me to do?”

“Mom said you could use your meal plan on me.” Arya says petulantly.

“That’s only if-- Nevermind, sure. You’ll need to come get my card from me, then you can go get whatever you want. Do you know where my office is?”

Blessedly, Arya grumbles something vaguely agreeing, rather than spend five minutes accusing Sansa of patronizing her. Either she’s feeling gracious or she’s just that hungry. 

When the line finally clicks dead, Sansa should feel grateful but instead she feels full of resent. If only she had a bit of Sandor’s roughness, she would have just told Arya to fuck off. That’s what he would have done, or perhaps he wouldn’t have even answered the phone. 

It’s not that Sansa evens minds spending her meal plan on Arya, she’d use the whole semester’s allotment if she thought it would make Arya happy. But it wouldn’t. No matter how much money or consideration she threw at the issue with Arya, Sansa would open her mouth and say something wrong.

That’s always what happened, with all the PE upperclassmen she’d wanted to befriend when she first joined. With Joffrey, who would be kind and considerate one moment and cruel and ghastly the next. With Jon and Robb when she was a child and just wanted to impress them, with Arya and all their stupid fights, and now with whatever had upset Sandor at lunch. How could she have been so stupid?

Sansa furiously scrubs at her eyes, determined not to cry for the umpteenth time in the Greek Life office and fishes her headphones out of her purse, grateful she hadn’t dropped it off at her desk along with her backpack. She should be getting back to work, getting started on work really, it’s only fair to Shireen and Edric, but as she’s not about to touch herself at the office and a quickie before dinner at Robb’s seems unlikely with Harry still freezing her out, she’s running low on options of how to calm down. Soft indie music comes in over the speaker-- her Woe is Me playlist seemed appropriate for the moment--and Sansa leans back in her chair.

Some time later there’s a tap at the door, audible even over her music, but Sansa remains reclined, hoping whoever is there will go away. Light from the outer office spills in when the door opens, but they don’t make a move to flip the switch and turn on the overhead rows of lights. Shireen then, most likely sent by Edric to check on her.

“Nice nap?” She asks impassively.

Sansa keeps her eyes closed. “I’m fine, Shireen. Thanks.”

“I know. I’m here to fetch you for your sister.” 

Sansa gets up as quickly as she can, stuffing her phone and headphones into her purse. 

The walk from her apartment should have taken longer and anyway, she’d told Arya to text first. Sansa didn’t need Arya critiquing her workplace. From the conference room windows, she can already see that Arya is displeased, leaning onto Sansa’s desk and listening to Petyr with her arms crossed over her chest and disdain written all over her face.

“Sansa, you should have told me your sister was coming to visit,” Petyr chides as she walks over to meet them. 

“Well I didn’t have much forewarning either,” Sansa says, not missing the glare Arya sends her way.

“We should arrange a dinner while you’re here, Arya. You’re aunt would love to have you girls over.” 

“I’ve got a pretty tight schedule,” Arya says, barely bothering to look up from where’s she’s glaring at an anti-hazing poster on the wall.

“Well, I won’t keep you girls from it then,” Petyr responds, all smiles and with a warm hug for them both that Arya doesn’t return.

“What do you even do here?” Arya asks before Petyr’s even gone a few steps away and most assuredly in earshot.

Refusing to give in, Sansa grits her teeth and snakes her ID from its slot in her wallet . “Here’s my card, Arya. Don’t lose it.”

Arya snatches her ID but doesn’t make any move to leave. 

“Aren’t you going to come with me?”

“I already ate lunch.” Sansa slumps into her desk chair and holds down the power button for her monitor. The screen blinks once, then again, then the generic background of the amassed student organizations in front of the Union fills the monitor. Sansa looks away from the screen, to Edric and Shireen, sitting at the crafting table with their backs to the room, pretending not to listen and then to Arya, who is still to her side.

“Did you want me to come with you?”

Arya shrugs, all casual, but there’s enough reluctance there that Sansa can tell she needs something. “You don’t have to. I just thought maybe you’d want to give me a tour of campus.”

“You want a tour of Roth?” Sansa asks, incredulously. 

“I told mom and dad I was interested in Roth so that they’d let me come.”

If Arya’s anticipating Sansa’s disapproval, she’s in luck today because Sansa’s too tired to deal with anymore bullshit from anyone. God bless the next student to come in looking for help, or even Edric or Shireen if either so much as talks to her in the next two hours. Though knowing herself, Sansa would probably still meet them with perfected kindness and charm, but it’s not like she’d be happy about it.

“I’ll go to the Admissions Office and get you the swag bag they give out after tours.”

“Awesome,” Arya replies, and with a quick wave she’s out of the office without so much as a thank you.

“So that’s Arya Stark.” Shireen says.

Sansa buries her head in her hands.

\--

Harry picks them up in front of Sansa’s apartment building at 4:45 sharp. To Sansa, he gives a perfectly civil, perfectly perfunctional greeting and kiss on the cheek. Arya gets a much more involved, “how has your trip been so far?” as he makes eye contact with her through the rear view mirror like he actually cares to know the answer.

“It’s fine,” Arya says already pulling out her headphones. She jams them into her ears and leans against the window, as if the stationary view of Sansa’s building is the most interesting thing she’s seen so far in King’s Landing.

“What’s her problem?” Harry hissis to her in a whisper and Sansa can’t help but shrug.

“I wish I knew.”

Harry pulls out of the parking lot and then out of the school completely and starts making his way towards the highway. Sansa asks him about his day and he gives her a basic summary, even asks about here, but after a few minutes they’ve exhausted that topic and he doesn’t start another.

Sansa turns to her phone, scrolling instagram and facebook as the D.C. suburbs pass by in a blur outside her window. For a few minutes, she’s able to avoid her texts but eventually she ends up back in her most recent text to Sandor, _I’m sorry about lunch. I’m free tomorrow afternoon if we want to practice, Maybe around 4?_ sent at 2:38 PM, no response. Sandor has a 2:30 class, Sansa’s know this but it’s been out for over an hour now. Her fingers itch to text again, but she decides to put her hands to better use.

Harry gives her a tight smile when she lays her hand on top of his, but he doesn’t respond when she tries to turn his hand over and lace their fingers together. After a minute or two, he pulls his hand out of her grip to turn the heater down a notch now that the car’s warmed up, and then grips the wheel with both hands.

Sansa’s just waiting for Arya to pipe up from the backseat, to truly complete the moment, but her sister is silent and, as Sansa learns when she peaks at her in the rearview mirror, perhaps asleep.

“Are you mad at me?” Sansa asks.

Harry’s eyes flick up to the rearview mirror.

“She’s asleep,” Sansa tells him.

“Still,” Harry is hesitant, and he avoids her stare, eyes straight ahead on the road. “You think now is the best time to have this talk?”

“It’s a _talk_ now? So you are mad at me?”

“I’m not mad, I’m… It just felt really bad to find you with him after I told you how I felt about him” Harry says, looking to her then back to the road in small glances.

Of course Harry hadn’t gotten over the bonfire that quickly. Of all the things Harry had to be jealous of, Sandor’s attention Friday night was the least of it. It wasn’t like Sandor was the one with impure fantasies running through his head every time they met up.

“Sandor’s my friend,” which is true to her at least, even if Sandor’s parameters for friendship aren’t the same, “and I told you, we were looking for you. He was helping!”

“It didn’t look that way,” Harry accuses.

Rather than answer Harry’s immaturity, Sansa watches the neighborhoods pass by, perfect cookie-cutter homes in perfect neat rows.

“You’ve never seemed to want guy friends before,” Harry begins after a while, voice softer, vulnerable. “Why him?”

“He’s my partner in class.”

Harry scoffs at that and Sansa can’t say she blames him. 

“And we’re friends. I know it’s a shock that I’d get along with someone so different from my usual friends but… we talk about class and we know a lot of the same people at Roth and…” If Harry can be vulnerable, so can she. Her stomach flutters anxiously and stares down at her hands, clasped together tightly in her lap, but she finds her voice after a few moments, “I like him. Not middle school, _like_ like, but as a person. I like him. But I love you, ok? It’s an easy distinction. I like him, I love you. Easy.”

And loving Harry _is_ easy. He’s charming, intelligent, gentle. She never has to worry they way she had with Joffrey, worry about setting him off, worry about what his words truly meant. Love takes work, Sansa knows that, but it doesn’t have to be hard. 

“Give me some time,” is all Harry answers.

Before Sansa has time to stew over that, her phone buzzes on her lap and if it’s PE business, at least it will be better than riding in silence with Arya and Harry but her heart beat rockets up when she sees it’s Sandor. 

_ok_

Of all the things she could call Sandor--frustrating, complicated, tough, exciting, intriguing--easy would definitely not be one of them. No, Sandor is not easy at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about the long wait! This chapter was a bitch to write, I "finished" it a week and a half ago, then realized I'd have to significantly edit most of it to fit in with a scene I'd added to chapter seven that wasn't originally in the outline. It's not the funnest chapter, which didn't help, but I promise it is setting up a lot of stuff I'm really excited for. I almost combined this chapter with the next, but then it would have been double the length. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! I'm suchakidder on tumblr as well if you want to chat or yell at me about the slow pace. Thanks for reading, and as always, I appreciate your comments!


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